


Wandering in the Dark

by ladymdc



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1930s, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Alternate Universe - Noir, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst and Feels, Denial of Feelings, Everyone Needs A Hug, Everything is Beautiful and Everything Hurts, Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, From Sex to Love, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Lyrium Withdrawal, Mutual Pining, No Damsel in Distress Here, On rare occasion, POV Cullen Rutherford, Protectiveness, Self-Worth Issues, Slow Build, Touch-Starved, Worldbuilding, fic is sprinkled with commissioned art
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-03
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-05-01 01:16:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 72,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14509320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladymdc/pseuds/ladymdc
Summary: In a world on the verge of collapse, C.S. Rutherford did what he could to survive, at least until a routine case led him down a path he never expected to cross, and a dame with dark verdant eyes and a sharp wit strode into his office.With nothing as it seemed, including her, perhaps it all wasn’t as hopeless as he thought.(A Noir/Dystopian AU twist on the events DA:I)





	1. We all wander through this shattered old world.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LarasLandlockedBlues](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LarasLandlockedBlues/gifts), [WindySuspirations](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WindySuspirations/gifts).



> Without these 2 I would have left the DA fandom & this fic would not exist. Thank you SO MUCH for being such supportive, lovely individuals that I'm glad to call my friends (Hearts)(Sage)
> 
> Special thanks to [kawakaeguri](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kawakaeguri) for the idea & [lyriumyue,](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyriumyue/pseuds/lyriumyue) [machatnoir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Machatnoir/pseuds/Machatnoir), & a bunch of people in a couple of Discord groups for making this fandom a positive place. (Black Heart)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An introduction to our lead characters: Cullen _"I'm too old for this shit"_ Rutherford & Evelyn _"This shit is weird"_ Trevelyan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is lyrics from Lincoln Durham's [Ballad of a Prodigal Son](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7OVZjqhRkqw).
> 
>  **Important tidbit!** For anyone who doesn't specifically recall this, Sethius Amladaris is Corphyeus' real name.

The Resistance was irretrievably over; everything that could have been done had been done. He had never thought they would succeed, only a fool would believe they could, but he had never thought he would live to see the day the last Theirin was wiped from the face of Thedas. 

This wasn’t the first time such rumors circulated, but it would be the last. Front and center on today’s paper was undeniable proof. The Theirin family crest affixed to the lapel of Amladaris’ suit jacket was a subtle but devastating blow to anyone still clinging to hope the Golden Age would someday return. 

It had been over a decade since he last saw Alistair, but the loss stung no less for it. Perhaps even more so knowing the last words spoken to the man he once called a Brother were venomous and full of resentment. Now, there would never be an opportunity to correct that wrong, but it wasn’t like he had been going out of his way in an attempt to do so anyway. All that was left was to hope Alistair’s death was quick and painless. Though based on the sinister curl of Amladaris’ lip, it was anything but. 

The thought did nothing for the migraine that had been plaguing him all morning. In addition to the throbbing tendrils taking root deep in his skull, there was also a slight halo around objects, a shimmery haze that wasn’t precisely seeing double but close enough to be an annoyance. It was one of those post-lyrium side effects he’d long since come to terms with. Once the coup took place, it was either risk injecting a tainted dose or quit. 

It was an easy decision. 

Automatically, he popped some aspirin into his mouth, swallowed it dry and reached for a cigarette. He tapped it twice on the desk and tucked it into the corner of his mouth before he brought the cupped lighter up, despising the slight tremor of his hands. He smoked in long, steady pulls. Repeatedly, his gaze dropped to the newspaper before him then at his watch to read the time as if it would somehow make it move faster. Eventually, the pounding in his head subsided only to be replaced by the telltale click-clack of high heels.

His interest was instantly piqued, and it had nothing to do with the shapely silhouette he could discern through the frosted glass. A lot could be determined by someone’s gait. The speed and force of their steps and the sounds it produced could indicate a wide array of emotions. This client didn’t possess the terrible wrath of a woman wronged nor the hesitant curiosity of one who suspects. She appeared to exude an air of calm indifference. A rare thing in a world gripped by fear and ruin. 

Then, without one iota of hesitation, the door opened.

The woman was beautiful; her wavy, brunette hair smooth and shining. Her full lips an agreeable shade of ruby red. Her dark verdant eyes boldly held his gaze. Something flashed in their depths, green and bright, but then she blinked, and it was gone. One corner of her mouth lifted lazily.

“Rutherford.” 

He could feel a sudden heat on the back of his neck at the way his name rolled off her tongue but was determined to pretend it wasn’t there. Her accent was Marcher, mixed with something else he couldn’t quite place. 

She shut the door and took a seat in one of the three intentionally uncomfortable, wooden chairs before him. The woman looked at him expectantly.

Rutherford cleared his throat and mashed his cigarette into Amladaris’ left eye. “It seems I’m at a disadvantage, Miss—“

The marginal quirk of her lip became almost amused. “Trevelyan.”

His gut locked up; bile burned in his throat. Rutherford pressed his finger and thumb into the corners of his eyes. Trying to stamp out the visions swimming through his mind. It had been two years since Lord Protector Sethius Amladaris took control, and not a day went by that he was reminded of his unknowing role in the coup.

Having the propensity to keep his head down and  _ work,  _ he took notice something was off much too late. By the time Hawke stormed into his office to scream scathing accusations of his involvement, the damage had already been done. Lyrium tainted with Red had been injected into a majority of their ranks at evening rations. Red not only warped the mind but after the first hit, there was no turning back for without it there was only death. With only one source for the terrible substance available, turning the Order against country and crown was simple.

Only those with rank were given a choice. General Trevelyan was the first to refuse. Rutherford, the second. The difference, however, was only he lived because by way of answer, Rutherford put a bullet between Major General Stannard’s Red-tainted eyes.

Meeting the late General Trevelyan’s daughter’s inquisitive stare, he scraped his bottom teeth over his top lip where the scar from escaping the ordeal was. There was a brief flash of prickling numbness. He immediately regretted drawing attention to it as her eyes briefly roamed over his mouth. The room suddenly felt far too warm. It would be easier not to make eye contact, but it would be cowardly to look away.

Rutherford yanked on the knot of his tie to loosen it. “Why are you here?” It came out much harsher than he would have liked. 

She ignored the outburst. “I have use of someone with your talents.”

“Talents?” He scoffed, fishing out another cigarette. The dregs of his migraine were flaring up with force. 

“Yes, talents,” she insisted.

Twice, he tapped the cigarette on the desk. “And what might those be?” As far as he was aware, failure and survival were his only ‘talents.’ He had an odd propensity for both.

“We both know why you keep checking your watch.”

Despite the seriousness of her insinuation, he couldn’t help smiling. “And what makes you think you know anything about me?” He asked before fitting the cigarette in his mouth and lighting it. 

“Are you sure you want to play this game?” she asked, plucking off some unnoticeable piece of offense from her charcoal grey skirt before returning her dark green eyes to his amber. “Because I do know everything about you.” 

Rutherford leaned back in the chair and crossed ankle over knee. “Please.” He blew his smoke out defiantly. “Do tell.” 

She smiled tolerantly though his cigarette smoke. “Cullen Stanton Rutherford, the second eldest child of four. Mia, the eldest, your brother Branson, and Rosalie the youngest. You joined the Royal Order the day you turned eighteen. At twenty, you took your first lyrium dose, and your parents died that same year as the Blight ran rampant through the countryside. Then came Kinloch—”

“Enough,” he gritted out. A breath hissed out of him, and he turned his head to avoid her piercing gaze. It took a while before he noticed the dull ache in his jaw from clenching his teeth as he glared at the newspaper displaying the result of his most devastating failure.

“He’s alive you know,” she said, tipping her chin toward the paper. 

“No shit.”

Trevelyan made a sound that could have been a laugh. “Don’t be thick.”

“I’m not. I—“ He sat up a little straighter when Trevelyan suddenly stood but didn’t rise as he should have. 

“You are,” she insisted as she braced one arm on the desk and leaned over. Her long, flowing locks fell over her shoulder. The scent of her, sweet and floral with notes of something akin to spring rains, wafted his direction. Briefly, it overpowered the smoke thick in the air around him. Rutherford was momentarily struck a little dumb by it. 

The motion of her hair drew his attention away from her face toward… other assets. The neckline of her white blouse cut dangerously low and there was little for him to do but glare at her when she looked up at him from beneath her lashes. He knew what she was doing, and he hated it worked so easily, especially because he jumped a little when the silk of her glove brushed his fingers. 

Smirking, Trevelyan placed his cigarette between her lips and tucked something into his hand. The metal was warm, and he errantly wondered how warm she’d feel, but then his thumb reflexively ran along the familiar grooves.

His stomach bottomed out. “This could be any coin,” he snapped, holding the silver and gold coin between finger and thumb for emphasis. 

“It could,” she agreed. “But it isn’t. Did you know you’re bleeding?” With the cigarette pointing down and held between thumb and middle finger, she touched the very tip of her nose. 

Rutherford scrambled to find a handkerchief, but his shirt was already ruined. While he attempted to clean himself up and staunch the flow, she took one long drag and held the cigarette back out to him. He hesitated to take it, distracted by the bright red imprint of her lips upon it. 

After a moment of inaction, she leaned forward and placed it between his slightly parted lips and a quiet thrill ran through him at her forwardness. The faint taste of her only served to agitate him further, and she knew it. 

That semi-amused curve to her mouth was back. “I can always find someone else, so come along or don’t, it matters not to me. Either way you have your luck back. Perhaps that’s all that’s been missing all these years.” At that she buttoned a single button on her jacket, further accentuating the curve of her waist and the swell of her breasts, and departed.

The woman never even hinted at what she wanted from him. Like the eye of storm, she was serene and a tad refreshing, but then left chaos and destruction in her wake. His mind was positivity reeling at what she vaguely suggested as he was left with far too many questions and not a single answer. 

Rutherford owed Alistair his life. If it weren’t for the Wardens, he would have rotted in Kinloch. At the time, he felt there was nothing to thank them for. The mistakes he made were too grave, the horrors endured too fresh, and his wounds still weeping. Time healed the latter. The former two points, however… Well, they never left, and only more had been added over time. But if there was a way for him to take something he fucked up and make it right, he shouldn’t still be sitting there. 

He snuffed the cigarette out on Amladaris’ right eye. There were few things he needed to grab, all within reach. Smokes, lighter, jacket and his emergency bag which contained an assortment of necessities and a good deal of cash should the regime ever care to come after him again. Within moments he was able to rush after her. 

“Wait! I—“ he came to a grinding halt at the sight of her leaning against a car expectantly.

“Well, that didn’t take long did it?” Her voice was full of dry amusement. 

He scowled. “Shut up.”

“And here I thought you’d be glad to see I waited.” Trevelyan’s pout shifted into something openly appraising as her gaze blatantly raked up his body. “I know I’m glad to see you’re interested.”

He was blushing. Knew he was blushing and the laziest smile he’d ever seen blooming across her lovely face did nothing to alleviate it. Rutherford pinched the bridge of his nose because that… that was dangerous. His entire body had heated through, and it had everything to do with the way she seemed to know how to push all of his buttons. 

She laughed then, a high and bright sound that made his hand drop reflexively. Her smile widened a little when their gazes locked once again. His heart was racing, and he was confused as to why. 

“Alright grump,” she chirped, opening the passenger door. “Get in. We’ve got a long drive ahead of us.”

Her laughter and choice of address were unexpected, and he felt himself breathing out a small huff of amusement as he stepped off the curb and reached in to toss his bag into the backseat. “What did you just call me?”

“Grump.”

“No. Don’t. I don’t like it,” he said, voice muffled from trying, in vain, to wipe away the stupid grin stretching across his face as he stood straight. The smile felt odd, maybe because it felt real. 

“Are you sure? It seems like you do very much.”

What he did like, oddly enough, was how her standing on the curb put her almost face to face with him. “I really don’t.” He shook his head, smile finally fading away. “Preferably Rutherford, or Cullen if you must.” 

“Alright, Cullen,” she said very slowly as if savoring the feel of his name in her mouth. She extended out a gloved hand. “Preferably Evelyn, or Trevelyan if you must.” 

It took him a moment, almost a moment too long but he accepted. It wasn’t a handshake, it was something else, and it bothered him. He abruptly pulled his hand back and clenched it into a fist at his side to prevent himself from wiping it off on his pants.

Her expression shifted. It was subtle, but Rutherford breathed a little easier at the hardness in her eyes for the last thing he deserved was anyone’s warmth or acceptance no matter how much he may want it deep down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) In canon, the more contagious form of the Blight is often referred to as "a plague". :raised_hands Many who contract the Blight sickness die within hours, while others wither away slowly. It can be spread by rats & seen centuries after a true Blight SO this works perfectly for my purposes. (Sorry Cullen’s parents for the terrible way to go in this fic.) 
> 
> 2) Stannard is Meredith's last name. (Thank you BioWare for giving me a full name for once.)
> 
> 3) Kudos are always welcome & appreciated, and if you feel so inclined, you can talk to me on here or [Tumblr](https://ladymdc.tumblr.com). I don't bite - unless you want me too. (Smirking Emoji)  
> _______________________________________________________________________________
> 
> ALSO: an amazing portrait of Evelyn courtesy of [ketsie](http://ketsie.tumblr.com).  
> 


	2. I've done a bad thing & I'm paying it for all right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is lyrics from Rayland Baxter's [Bad Things](https://youtu.be/J6b8VHtU0iA). This is one of my "Cullen" songs.

He was used to silence; used to offending people, but he wasn’t used to sharing silence with people he offended. The sounds of the engine and the hum of the road passing beneath them seemed to only increase in volume the further from New Haven they got. There was plenty room in the vehicle, his long legs were comfortably canted out, and yet Rutherford still felt cramped. Wiping his clammy palms on his slacks, he risked a glance Trevelyan’s direction.

She had removed her jacket and right glove. The heel of her slim, delicate hand rested atop the gearshift. Her nails short and colorless, but well manicured. Trevelyan ran her pinky nail under her thumbnail. It appeared to be an act of thought or concentration, not nerves. His eyes also caught a hundred more details; the contrast of her olive skin against her long-sleeved white blouse, the slight flicker of her lashes, the small, attractive mole at the corner of her mouth, and the easy way she turned her head when she felt his eyes upon her.

Trevelyan raised her eyebrows, and Rutherford looked away to hide the underlying panic at the thought he would be the final nail in the Resistance’s coffin. The coin felt heavy in his pocket. A miserable reminder of the man who didn’t survive the wreckage of Kinloch; the broken man he selfishly cast aside for his peace of mind as much as for everyone else’s. The phrase _fuck up_ kept drifting through his head and he couldn’t help but wonder why anyone, especially Alistair, would want to recruit him. 

His gaze automatically fell upon on the road ahead. The brilliance of the snow-coated landscape burned his retinas; pain lanced through his skull. He pressed finger and thumb into the corners of his eyes and waited for the worst of it to pass. Once it did, he bit back a frustrated groan and hung his head to stretch out the tension gathering in his neck as he rubbed it. 

Rutherford licked his chapped lips. “Can I smoke in here?”

“Sure, do whatever you need.” 

A hollow ache passed through his heart at the sincere kindness in her tone. Feeling his cheeks flush pink, he managed to pluck a cigarette from the pack before tossing it on the dash for later. Due to the slight tremor in his hands, it took more tries than he would have liked, and he couldn’t help noticing how Trevelyan gripped the gearshift throughout his struggle, but eventually smoke began to fill the cabin. He infinitesimally cracked the window and leaned back into the seat. 

She took a breath. 

“Why me?” He blurted. Rutherford knew he was being a bit rude, but he didn’t want her sympathy. That someone might think he deserved it was a horrible feeling. 

Trevelyan exhaled a quiet sigh. “I’d prefer it if you asked Alistair that.”

“But you agree with him,” he pressed.

“Does it matter?”

“It does.”

“He has put a lot of trust in me,” Trevelyan said slowly as if considering her words very carefully. “The least I could do is return the favor.”

“That does not answer the question.”

“It does,” she insisted. 

“How?”

Chewing on her full bottom lip, she averted her gaze. He’d upset her, and Rutherford wasn’t sure if he was glad to see true emotion flit across her face or ashamed for having caused it. 

“I trust him with my life, if you fumble it, that’s on you, not him.” 

It was an oddly satisfying answer. Rutherford wasn’t expecting lies and deception per say, but her candor was unexpected.

“You say that like you know from experience.” The observation just left him, unbidden. He grimaced. 

Trevelyan glared at him. “I do. Does knowing that make you feel better?” 

“Maker’s breath, I’m not trying to offend you. I just can’t think around—“ Rutherford shut his mouth, and never planning on opening it again, gestured at the mess in his skull. 

“For fuck’s sake, I have some elfroot in—“

He had the cigarette in his mouth, and he drew on it so hard he nearly choked. “You have elfroot?” Smoke burst out between them. 

“Yes, and a pair of sunglasses, in my suitcase.” She held her hand out, fingers beckoning, and without a second thought he handed over the cigarette. 

With both hands free, Rutherford shifted in the seat to lean over it as best he could with his size and retrieve her little, brown suitcase. He set it in his lap and pressed on the latches to open it. Right on top was the pair of sunglasses in question. Lifting them up, he gave her a wry look. 

“You can not be serious.”

She shrugged. ”Just trying to help. The elfroot is buried in there somewhere.”

Making a face, he unfolded the cat eye sunglasses. Despite being quite practiced at ignoring the headache, it was something done indoors with drawn blinds. Not midday surrounded by endless amounts of pristine white snow. He heaved a sigh, then crammed them on his face. 

Trevelyan gave him a sidelong glance. That small smile pulled at the corner of her mouth again. 

“Don’t.”

“You look cute.”

“Dammit, I’m not—“ and then Rutherford saw a hint of his reflection in the window. He huffed a breath and couldn’t stop himself from smiling. 

When he looked over at her, he felt his heart skip one too many beats, then beat faster, all because she started laughing. It was genuine and warm; a glimpse behind the walls built up around her and what he saw was beautiful. 

“I guess I have been called worse things,” he allowed amicably. 

“Haven’t we all.”

His gut flushed with warmth as did his cheeks at the hint of apology in her voice. Rutherford cleared his throat. “And the elfroot is?”

Trevelyan balanced the cigarette on the edge of the ashtray, then grabbed hold of the side of her suitcase and partially pulled it off his lap. “Here. I’ll save you the trouble of digging around through my unmentionables, unless…” She paused to shoot him a smirk. “That’s something you’d like to continue doing.”

“Shit! I’m sorry.” His cheeks flamed, even his neck burned, and he quickly looked up, but the lace detail on her nightgown was already seared into his memory.

“Hold on to it,” she said with a chuckle as the suitcase slid off his leg some more.

Rutherford clamped a hand around the edge to stabilize it, and Maker preserve him, accidentally grabbed hold of the soft garment in the process. He clenched his jaw and forced himself to ignore it. All of it. Ridiculous sunglasses included.

“Okay, misplaced sarcasm noted, but —”

“It’s fine,” he interrupted sharply.

“Sure it is.” Her voice was a stark counterpoint to his own; gentle and weary. There was the rustle of a paper bag and from his peripheral saw her sit straight. Trevelyan snuffed out the cigarette and wrapped her hand around the bottom of the steering wheel. He could almost see it, those walls dropping back down around her. It made him feel like an ass.

Lifting the paper sack from the suitcase, he closed it and centered it on his lap to use as a little table. “Look, I —”

“Just take what you need and hand me over a leaf. Please.” The final word was added almost in afterthought.

So, suppressing a wince, Rutherford nodded and swallowed down the apology he didn’t quite know how to say. _Fuck up_ was practically blaring in his head now and he wished he hadn’t fumbled this conversation so epically. And not because there was almost little to no hope in getting any answers from her now, but because the following silence was unbearable.

Rutherford felt queasy; his breathing sounded too fast. Compartmentalizing everything was how he got by. Some things were ignored in hopes they would just go away; others focused on to keep the illusion everything was perfectly fine firmly in place, but it all seemed to be slipping from his grasp. Made all the more apparent by the increased tremor in his hand. Refusing to allow himself to slip into an episode, he forced himself to breathe slowly and focus.

Inside the bag, there were several draughts and a two full grown elfroot plants. Surrounding the roots was a little bubble of water. Tentatively, Rutherford encompassed one in his hand. The spell was surprisingly solid for its apparent fragility, and he marveled at the genius behind it. The next thing he did was run his fingers over the willowy stem of the larger of the two plants from top to bottom. Impressive as it was, the level of care that went into these plants wasn’t surprising. It had practically been eradicated during the regime’s effort to offset the side effects of Red. 

It felt a little odd to desecrate such an excellent specimen, and with only the slightest bit of hesitation did he pluck off a leaf from the very bottom. He held it up in the space between them. Trevelyan looked at him for a long moment with a troubled look on her face before accepting it. Their fingers brushed together, and a shiver traveled up his spine at the warmth of her against his cold skin. The contact lingered longer than he intended, but eventually, he found the capacity to withdraw. 

“Thank you, for this,” he said quickly before she could break the incredible silence first. Averting his gaze, Rutherford unscrewed the container and brought it to his lips. At first, he tipped the vial slowly, just enough for the substance to wash across his tongue. It had an unexpected minty aftertaste instead of the usual astringent bitterness. He smacked his lips at the pleasant cooling sensation as the draught already began to work. The pounding in his head lessened, and Rutherford exhaled a breath, savoring the moment. 

“Thank you, for trusting that everything will be explained in due time,” she said slowly.

He felt a faint tug at his lip and thought about how odd it was he trusted her at all. “So you’ll give me nothing?”

“I believe I gave you elfroot,” she replied, looking at him sideways.

They both shared a smile, and he then downed the remainder of the liquid. The ever-present aches in his body faded away, and there was no preventing the groan of relief that rent from his chest. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt like he belonged in his own skin. 

“We’re going to our headquarters,” Trevelyan said, surprising him.

Rutherford cracked her suitcase open just enough to slip the bag back inside. “And where’s that?” 

“Skyhold Manor. It’s nestled in the Frostbacks.”

“Not the sewers?” 

She shot him a bemused look. “Did you just make a joke?” 

He rolled his eyes as he latched the suitcase shut. “Is that so hard to believe?” 

“Nah. It looks good on you, like those sunglasses.” 

A snort of laughter left him before he could stop himself. He rubbed at the whiskers on his chin, doing his very best to ignore the sudden warmth blooming in his chest. The slight increase in his heart rate was at odds with the wave of exhaustion settling over him. Tiredness was familiar; the sharpness of it was something else. 

He lightly shook his head, but it did nothing to rid him of the persistent smile tugging at his mouth nor the tendrils of sleep threatening to drag him down. His hands smoothed across the well-worn leather of her suitcase, starting in the center and moving outwards, before shifting in the seat to put it back where he found it. In his sluggish state, the action lacked the calculated precision from earlier. Trevelyan leaned away at the sudden proximity, but the hesitation and stiffness of the moment were oddly comforting.

She turned her head aside, but he still caught the color high on her cheeks. “We won’t get there until well after dark, so you should sleep. You look like you need it.”

Despite himself, he slumped down into the seat at the suggestion. “Is that a polite way of telling me I look like shit?” His voice slurred enough that he cleared his throat and then he realized how defensive he sounded. For some reason it bothered him, the thought she might find him lacking. 

“It isn’t,” she said, her gentle voice contrasting his yet again.

“Liar.” The accusation was half-hearted, and she knew it because she smiled. 

“I’m not in the habit of lying to people I work with.” 

“Do you want to work with me?” He asked, taking a slow breath. Maker knew why he cared, but he did. Going the fuck to sleep before he said something remarkably embarrassing was starting to sound necessary. 

“Only if the feeling is reciprocated,” she said, expression shifting into something he didn’t care to see from her. “But this is a discussion to have after you’ve chatted with Alistair and slept on it for a bit.”

There was wisdom in what she said, and he knew it, but still, something unwound in his chest because that wasn’t a no. Instead of speaking, Rutherford only nodded because he couldn’t think of anything to say that didn't sound utterly asinine. All he knew was he didn’t want to seem desperate for acceptance or ungrateful for what she’s already done for him. 

“Get a head start on the latter bit,” Trevelyan said lightly, pushing her coat over toward him. 

“Thanks,” he murmured as he wadded her coat up in his to use as a makeshift pillow. 

Settling against the door, he tucked the bundle into the crook of his neck. Years ago, when lyrium still sang through his veins, he could fall asleep within seconds. Thanks to the elfroot and backlog of restless nights, he found that again. Lucky too considering the scent of her, while muted, was hard to ignore.

He dreamed of home. A relic of innocence from before. That which he cast aside, knowing he would never be able to have it again. 

That dream had everything to do with the coin in his pocket, and nothing to do with the scent of wildflowers and a pair of beautiful, haunting green eyes the exact shade of the sea of pines surrounding his favorite childhood spot. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spent a LONG time researching 1930s cars because I obsess over details (then don’t write about them). To make me feel like I didn’t waste my time, Evelyn has a 1936 Buick Roadmaster.
> 
> BUT I also imagine there is a big garage somewhere on the Skyhold property where Blackwall switches around plates & works on cars/motorcycles & is just always in there, with tattoo sleeves & a man bun... looking hot.


	3. When I fall I'm back up again, just to slip on the same mistakes and slide right back in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is lyrics from The Wood Brothers' [Luckiest Man](https://youtu.be/TYY1T7BYd9U).
> 
> This chapter starts laying the foundation for this universe/plot, and I did not had an easy time with it. So I apologize if it’s terrible. I can’t tell anymore.

Trevelyan had long since fallen asleep. In the dimness, Rutherford studied the curve of her cheek, paled to silver by the full moons’ light. His jacket enveloped her petite frame; covered the gentle rise and fall of her chest. 

Maker knew he had enough scars, but there was something very clean and off about the one under her jawline. It hadn’t taken much to convince her to allow him to drive so she could rest, and Rutherford was glad she let him, but that she would drop her guard so readily around him was disconcerting. He wondered what Theirin could have possibly told her to encourage such behavior.

The coin was proof of his involvement, just as it was evidence the man believed Rutherford was ready to pick up the pieces and put them together again in some capacity. He must be if he was there with Trevelyan in the middle of nowhere with only a promise for answers and not back in New Haven waiting to meet his contact in some seedy back alley while he dwelled on his personal lot in life. 

Not that he still wasn’t dwelling.

Her words began to beat around in his skull.  _ I have use of someone with your talents.  _ There was such an intense, unsettling sense of  _ nothing _ when he considered what he could possibly offer anyone. After thirty-five years, who he was shouldn’t seem so… anticlimactic. His mind began to race, touching on every reason why he should walk away. He clenched his jaw and forced himself to shove aside the war he was beginning to wage with himself because for once he didn’t wish to lose.

At the sound of her voice, Rutherford didn’t actually jump, but it was a close thing.

Trevelyan frowned. “Sorry,” she said, sitting up a little straighter and folding his coat over her arm. At the movement, her jacket which had been tucked between her and the door for comfort fell to the seat beside her. 

Shame raced up his neck and stained his cheeks. “Don’t be,” he sighed, shaking his head a little as if to clear it. “What did you say?”

“I… uh…” Her voice still sounded unusually heavy in her throat, and she paused to clear it. “I was just apologizing.” There followed a fleeting smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I didn’t realize I was that tired,” she added, glancing out the window. 

Snowdrifts at least three feet high rose up on either side of the road marking where the enchantment preventing snow and ice from building up on the asphalt abruptly vanished. The mile marker Trevelyan had told him to keep an eye out for was partially buried. Only the one and half a two was visible, but Rutherford had kept track once he got close. Without a doubt, they were in the correct place.

“How long have we been sitting here?” She placed his coat between them.

He felt a tug at his mouth as he watched her absently rub at her face in her struggle to fully wake up. “Not long,” he assured, tucking the coin he had been inattentively fiddling with back into his pocket before angling his wrist to utilize the moonlight and read his watch. “Maybe ten minutes. I didn’t want to wake you.”

She hummed. “We can sit here for as long as you need.” 

For a moment, all Rutherford could do was blink at her. He hadn’t lied. Not exactly. The dark circles under her eyes rivaled the ones he saw in the mirror, and he wasn't sure  _ how  _ to wake her, but as Trevelyan regarded him with a sympathetic look, he knew she could see right through him. He hesitated a long time before nodding. 

The sky was clear and the world was still. Minutes passed in silence. He continued to lean against the door, determined to quell the nervousness spreading through him. After some time, his head fell back to rest against the ice-cold glass, and Rutherford felt like he had to say something. 

“Thank you,” he said, thinking on the elfroot and almost eight hours of restful sleep she gave him. The first of either he’d had in years. 

When she waved it off, Rutherford frowned; displeased with the dismissal because her kindness mattered. Without it, the situation he found himself in would have been difficult. Perhaps even spiraled him into an episode. As of now, he could only tell his hands were trembling by focusing on them.

She chuckled, but it wasn’t anything cruel. “You know what?”

“What?” he asked, stilted.

“You’re not as terrible as you think you are,” she said with a tired smile. 

A breath of laughter escaped him, taking him by surprise. “I’m not going to touch that one.”

“You don’t have to,” she shrugged. “But I’d never say it if it wasn’t true.”

As cliché as it sounded, a small weight lifted off his shoulders, and he wondered how that was even possible. They hardly knew each other, and yet in less than twenty-four hours, Rutherford felt  _ something _ that he’d been lacking in his life for too long. Even if he couldn’t trust it. Not yet.

“So you say,” he said, his voice dry.

“So I say,” she agreed, smiling again.

Scratching at the whiskers on his jaw, he glanced out the windshield, then back at her as the corner of his mouth turned up into an involuntary smirk.

“Feeling better about this yet?”

“I am.” The twisting unpleasantness in his stomach wasn’t entirely gone, but it had lessened considerably.

“The manor drive is just to the left of that creepy looking tree,” she said at the same time he felt a  _ shift _ in the air around him. 

“When were you planning on telling me?” he asked, not bothering to look where she pointed. There was no need to. He knew there was a twisted mass of dead branches over his left shoulder, just as he knew there was a complicated series of spells and wards nearby, no doubt concealing the drive in question. Had they just drove on past, he wouldn’t have even noticed the latter, but Rutherford had learned the hard way it was the tiny details that could easily be missed that mattered most. Like the way Trevelyan infinitesimally perked up, picking up on what he was really asking. 

“Like you didn’t know,” she answered. It seemed like something that should have been delivered with sarcasm, but there was only passive observation. 

“I suspected,” he said, feeling slightly vindicated as her hand lifted to prepare a spell. 

Trevelyan rolled her eyes. “You’re a terrible liar, Commander.” 

He was a little irritated that after years of interpreting data and predicting enemy maneuvers, not to mention adjusting orders on the fly as events unfolded, he didn’t see that coming. It irritated him even more since it was deserved. 

“I’m not a Commander anymore, Trevelyan,” he said calmly. “And we’re both well aware of why that is.” His tone had turned into something acrid there at the end where he merely intended to be matter-of-fact. 

She turned her head aside and nodded. “You’re right,” she said. “We are.”

The air seemed heavier, whether it was from the release of her spell or the silence stretching between them, he didn’t know, but he did care. With a sigh, Rutherford glanced over his shoulder. A gravel path cut into the high bank of snow just beside the dead tree. Instead of dislodging the apology stuck in his throat, he added it to the ever-growing list of fuck-ups and began to weave his careful way down the narrow drive. He stole a glance at Trevelyan as she resurrected the illusion behind them. That look he didn’t quite care to see on her had returned. It was something melancholic, perhaps penitent even. 

After about two miles, they passed through the primary defenses. The world rippled as if standing beneath a waterfall. The moment stretched for what felt like an eternity, stealing the breath from his lungs. He had a strong urge to toss the car in reverse and flee this place, but just before it became too much, they emerged on the other side. The little hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. It seemed almost like another world. 

Inside, the gravel path wound through a sea of grass up to and around the manor itself. The three-story building, square and unremarkable, was of an opposing size, dominating the massive field in which it sat. Silhouetted by moonlight, Skyhold was swathed in shadow and magic. Most of the spells were defensive, some controlled the weather, and powerful wards and illusions were unmistakably woven into the protective barrier. Interestingly enough, he could sense nothing that would cause anyone harm. 

Several windows glimmered with light; once he parked, the entire first floor lit up. “What is this place?”

She folded her coat over her arm before opening the passenger door. “I honestly don’t know, but it belongs to the Dread Wolf if that explains anything.” 

The somniari’s moniker alone was enough to make his heart lurch. 

“He approached us after we lost our base in Kirkwall,” she added, no doubt taking notice of his unease as he stepped out of the vehicle and glanced around the eerily desolate grounds.

“Approached you how?” 

“How do you think?” Her tone was drier than the desert. She shut her door a half second before he closed his. The echoes chased one another across the flagstone. 

A shiver traveled up his spine. “Do you trust him?” He asked as he walked around the vehicle to join her.

“No, not fully, but we’ve almost been here a year now without a single incident.” She looked up at him with a slight frown on her face as she opened the back door. 

Articulating an apology now for snapping at her seemed pointless, but a kind gesture would be something at least. So with that thought in mind, Rutherford stooped down to grab their bags before she could. 

“We go to great lengths to solidify the positions of those we have undercover,” she continued after a beat of hesitation. “Including his, but he makes it worth our while.”

Rutherford slung his pack over his shoulder and stood straight. “I would certainly hope so,” he allowed, handing over her suitcase. 

“Thank you,” she said, blushing a little as she took it from him. That tug at his mouth was back again, and he walked off toward the manor so she wouldn’t notice. The click-clack of her heels followed after him. 

“You’ll have access to everything should you decide to stay,” she said, catching up with him on the veranda. “As far as the world is concerned, we’ve already lost this war, but it’s only just the beginning.”

He looked down at her and his brow furrowed as he realized what this was all about. “No. There has to be someone else. I can’t —“ he cut off as the door swung open and was momentarily blinded by the sudden light. 

“Cullen!” 

A swoop of nausea moved through him at the sound of his old friend’s voice. 

“Maker, it’s good to see you.” Alistair wrapped him in a big bear hug. He’d have been less startled if the man had punched him in the face. Rutherford managed to pat him on the back before Alistair pulled back to hold him by the shoulders at arm’s length. “Look at you! You look…” 

“Like shit?” Rutherford offered wryly. His hair was longer, and his face had run thin over the years. He never fully recovered from detox. At this point, never expected to. 

Somehow Alistair’s grin grew. “You said it, not me.”

Rutherford couldn’t stop himself from rolling his eyes. “You haven’t changed a bit,” he said, slapping the side of Theirin’s face good-naturedly. 

“I know, right?” His rightful king then waggled his eyebrows. “But we can talk about how handsome I am later, I imagine you must be tired. We’ve got a room already prepared for you.” Alistair threw an arm over his shoulders and began to herd him into the manor. 

“No wait,” he said, digging his heels in to prevent Alistair from whisking him off to bed. “We need to talk. Trevelyan said—“ Rutherford sought her out for backup, but only found her black high-heels discarded just inside the entryway. It confounded him that he was bothered by her disappearance. Specifically that he somehow didn’t notice it.

Alistair glanced down at the shoes with concern as he walked past them. “What’s the problem?”

“She didn’t tell me anything,” Rutherford said, spinning in a slow circle once inside. What began as a casual search for where she could have gone quickly became him simply taking in the enormity of the building. 

There were two hallways and several rooms accessible from the central area alone. A grand staircase led to the second floor, from there two more sprouted from either side of it, curving upward to meet one another on the third floor. Frescoes were painted on the ceiling high above. 

“I’ve pieced together a rough idea of what you all could possibly want from me, but outside of that…”

Heaving a sigh, Alistair walked away from the room he was peeking in. “Hungry?”

“I could eat.” Honestly, his body didn’t remind him he needed to eat in any reliable way. It was another one of those post-lyrium effects he had long come to terms with. However, the last thing he had was half a bagel in the early hours of the morning, and it was now nearing midnight.

Theirin clapped him on the back as he walked by. “We can talk in the kitchen then.” 

They walked past the grand staircase, through a broad, empty room that must have once been a dining hall and into the kitchen. Alistair gave him a brief tour of the ‘most important room’ before sitting down at a modest six-person table. 

“So, where do you want to start?” He asked, poking around through the cookies set out. 

Rutherford began to rummage through the fridge. He didn’t appreciate food like he used to, so he didn’t want to eat anything someone might actually enjoy. “Why contact me now after all this time?” he asked, wincing at the poor phrasing. 

He risked a glance Alistair’s direction. The man had his elbows propped up on the table and was slowly rubbing his palms together, seemingly lost in thought. Unsurprisingly, he looked disappointed. Not with Rutherford of course, but with himself. Eventually, Alistair took a breath, interlocked his fingers and looked at him. 

“It wasn’t like I didn’t want to before now, Cullen.” It was a thinly veiled apology, and Alistair knew it.

Rutherford turned back toward the fridge and closed his eyes. Thinking about how this wasn’t how this conversation was supposed to go. It had been too long since he’d been around anyone who  _ knew _ him and he was unused to it. Unused to the feeling of companionship, unfamiliar with the sound of his own name, and as always, at a loss as to what to say. 

“But it just wasn’t possible,” Alistair continued, sparing Rutherford the necessity of responding. “We had no idea where you were. We only knew you survived the last attempt on your life because you remained on their kill list. This was the first time we had enough time to intercept.”

Cullen raked a hand through his hair before grabbing the few items he’d need to make a ham and cheese sandwich. “How did you find me?”

Alistair sighed and leaned back in the chair. “You asked the wrong person the right question.”

Rutherford pressed his hands into the countertop to stop the shaking. The case he had been working on was nothing out of the ordinary, except for the fact one of the individuals ended up being involved with Red transport lines. Of course, Rutherford didn’t trust his contact, that would have been idiotic, but they had worked together before without incident, so curiosity had gotten the better of him.

“When was it going to happen?”

“At your meeting tonight. Last night? Whenever,” Alistair said, waving off the detail.

He would have been armed, he always was, but it didn’t make the oversight sting any less. “And why didn’t Trevelyan deign to tell me this?” Rutherford snapped, irritation getting the better of him.

“Evelyn,” Alistair said, pausing to stare at him pointedly a moment, “is dead as far as Amladaris is concerned. Her goal was to get you out of there, not blow her cover, but she would have you know, if she needed to, and you would have made her if she told you what was really going on.”

Cullen couldn’t help but smile bitterly at that, flexing his fingers a time or two before cutting open the roll.

“But I’m not sure any of that matters anymore,” Alistair added, frowning.

“What do you mean?” 

“Amladaris is ready to move on Orlais, and it’s largely our fault.”

Rutherford thought on the front page of today’s newspaper. About the crest and that sinister curl of Amladaris’ lip as he began to construct his late night snack. “What went wrong?”

“We put our trust in the wrong person. It happens, but the consequences usually aren’t so dire.” 

He took his time wiping his hands off on a rag. “I don’t understand,” Rutherford admitted into the silence after he put back the ingredients. “Why was someone masquerading around as you in the first place?”

The muscles in his jaw worked for a moment. “Do you have any idea what it feels like to sit around day after day, for years I might add,” Alistair specified, raising his eyebrows, “while legions of people risks their lives for you?”

“No, I don’t, but I must ask, how does it feel to add one more to the ranks?” he asked before taking a bite. It wasn’t half bad, perhaps the elfroot did him more good than expected.

Alistair blinked at him a moment, then laughed. “Maker, you’re an asshole.”

Rutherford chuckled. “Seriously though, how could I possibly help?”

“You’re a brilliant strategist.”

He shook his head and took another bite. He couldn’t pretend to be a person that didn’t exist anymore. 

“Samson’s movements are… chaotic at best.” 

He felt his mind perk up at the sound of that name and when his chewing slowed for barely the span of a heartbeat, Alistair grinned. Cullen weakly scowled, realizing he wouldn’t have to pretend. He may not be that person anymore, but he’d still throw himself into mapping out the false General’s movements. 

“We’ve never been able to get a handle on him or get anyone close enough to him to funnel us information, but just think, if we finally manage to take out the source, the Red Templars simply… collapse,” Alistair said, continuing to grin at him like an imbecile. “Then who does Amladaris have left? No one. The Venatori don’t have the strength they used to under Erimond, and the seal on the Breach remains intact.”

Already he could feel an obsession taking hold. “Damn you,” Cullen said with a sigh. 

“Excellent.” Smiling broadly, Alistair leaned forward and resumed his search for a cookie. “Tomorrow I’ll give you the grand tour and introduce you to whoever’s here before letting you into the War Room.”

Cullen raised his eyebrows and looked at him sideways. “The War Room?”

“It started out as a joke. Okay, a bad joke.” Alistair conceded. “But it stuck. It’s where we keep all of our intel.”

“All of it?” Rutherford asked around a mouthful of food.

“All of it. Including what we salvaged from Kirkwall.” Alistair picked up a cookie, carefully examined it, frowned, then set it back down.

As much as he wanted to get his hands on it now, he knew Alistair wouldn’t let him, and Rutherford wouldn’t dare sneak around in search of it. No one knew him, save Evelyn and Alistair, and the last thing he wanted was to still end up getting shot in the back. So, he only hummed in acknowledgment as he finished up and wiped the crumbs off his hands with the rag again. 

“Is there something wrong with the cookies?” Rutherford wondered.

“Sometimes Evelyn puts raisins in them, but she’s sneaky about it. Dices them up really small.”

Despite himself, Cullen breathed out a huff of amusement. “Why on Theadas would she do that?” 

“Sera hates raisins,” Alistair said; face serious, expression grim. “It’s a dangerous game really. She’s a chemist. She could go toe-to-toe with any mage. It’s a little frightening.” 

“How many do you have, mages, that is, working for you all?” 

The question gave Alistair pause. Rutherford felt his cheeks heating under the curious, uneasy look he received. 

His days in the Order had been regimented so precisely for so long it had been embarrassingly easy for some to abuse their authority without his notice. Only when things began to slip out of place did it become apparent all those seemingly sporadic incidents were a part of something hugely significant. He should have been more vigilant. Never should have stopped assessing every situation no matter how routine. Maker, he didn’t want to know how many mages were simply murdered while The Commander was looking the other way and he couldn’t shake the ominous feeling Theirin knew the exact body count. 

“I don’t expect many survived the Purge,” Rutherford managed, voicing the heart of his concern. 

“No, not many did,” Alistair sighed, leaning back in his chair. He broke off a piece of his chosen cookie, popped it into his mouth, then frowned. Whether it was caused by the presence of raisins or the current topic, Rutherford couldn’t be sure. “But most countries did the right thing and destroyed their Vaults after the Betrayal, and we destroyed the ones for those who wouldn’t.” 

Cullen grabbed an unopened bottle of milk from the carrier in the fridge. “I didn’t know that.” 

“Not many people do. Amladaris doesn’t let much out unless it benefits him in some way. Thanks,” he said, smiling when Rutherford put the milk on the table and slid it over to him before taking a seat. 

Unlike his friend, Cullen had no issue with raisins, so he blindly chose a cookie. 

It had raisins in it. 

It was delicious. 

“But to answer your question, we have quite a few mages in our ranks. Most of them are planted in the regime and the few who aren’t had to blow their cover and then you’ve got Hawke who just wants to wreak as much havoc as possible, which is fine, everything helps.”

“What about Templars?” Rutherford asked, ignoring the way his heart sped up at the casual mention of someone he used to consider a friend.

“Again, we have quite a few, and we’ve secured a reliable source for lyrium,” Alistair said softly. “It’s there if you want it.” 

“I don’t.” Cullen shook his head. It wasn’t just the risk of injecting Red that drove him to quit, but also the fact it turned out that the Templars needed someone watching over them far more than the mages did. 

Alistair lifted the bottle of milk in a silent toast before taking a drink. “So, what do you think?” he asked, loosely capping the container and sliding it back his direction.

“I don’t know what I think.”

And that was especially true when he began to settle in his assigned suite and found a paper bag with two elfroot plants, several draughts, and a note:

> _I keep a supply of both of these things in the library. Feel free to take what you need and if you don’t care for the mint additive, our in-house healer, Abby, can help you out._
> 
> _Welcome aboard._
> 
> _EIT_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) The Wardens = Rainbow Six. For those who don't know what that is, it's a Tom Clancy novel about a blacker than black international counter-terrorist unit. (The Wardens do not have the taint in this world, so no Calling or anything terrible. Alistair has enough working against him at the moment.)
> 
> 2) The Darkspawn are still around, just an underground threat. 
> 
> 3) Abigail Henderson belongs to [LarasLandlockedBlues](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LarasLandlockedBlues) (Black Heart)
> 
>  **Next time:** more foundation building for this universe.


	4. Don’t you believe that I don’t want you here?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is lyrics from Ciaran Lavery's [Bad Man](https://youtu.be/tuztxGc3hQk).
> 
> This chapter sort of got away from me, and I'm sorry about that. I think?
> 
> Trigger warning for a _very_ brief, heavily implied reference to domestic abuse.

Time passed in Skyhold the same way it did everywhere else. Second after second, minute after minute, hour after hour. The sun rose, and then it fell, but when every day looked the same, time became more of a suggestion than concrete fact. The Inner Circle had more or less found ways to cope with this enigma. Rutherford, on the other hand, embraced it. 

Something was soothing about the solitude and the sense of drifting after struggling through the past couple of years. Part of it was the monotony of things, but it was mainly the fact he had some form of purpose again. 

And threw himself into it. 

There were hundreds of files in the aptly named, as it turned out, War Room. Blueprints and aerial reconnaissance on known bases of operation. Comprehensive reports on essential individuals within the regime whether deceased or alive. File upon file dedicated to enemy movements, potential leads, and even dead ends. However, before he delved into any of that, he got to know his allies. Even with some of the personnel files heavily redacted, he learned considerably more about them tucked away in his office than when Alistair had dragged him around the grounds to meet the manor residents present and accounted for that first morning. There was one file, however, that left him thoroughly unsatisfied. 

Trevelyan’s file wasn’t redacted, it was simply incomplete. He couldn’t ask her why that was because the woman wasn’t on the premises. Hadn't been for six days now. It set him a little on edge to recall that she had gathered a team and left before Alistair and he had finished talking that first night. Rutherford knew operations wouldn’t come to a standstill while he caught up, but everything he touched seemed to bring him back to her. Understanding how or why that was would apparently have to wait.

Sighing, Cullen tossed the pen down and looked around. His lodgings had always been simple. Merely a place to sleep and store what little he owned. The suite he had been given in Skyhold, however, had old woods, luxurious carpets, towering bookshelves and a set of double doors in his office that lead to the second-floor balcony which spanned the entire face of the building. Over his right shoulder was the door that led to his bedroom with a spacious double bed, bedside table, closet, and wardrobe. On the walls hung landscape paintings. The bedroom had another door that led to his private bathroom which had a large clawfoot bathtub he could actually fit comfortably inside, sink and medicine cabinet. Everything was clean, not one speck of dust, and smelled very nice. He’d probably never get used to any of it. 

A knock at the door and Cullen let out a stiff, “Come in.” He tried to make his face even, to soften his features in order not to be glaring at whomever it was with such severity, but then he saw who it was and stopped caring.

“Holy shit. It is true,” Varric said, laughing. 

“Was it so hard to believe?” Rutherford asked, resisting the urge to grind his teeth together as the dwarf took a seat on the opposite side of the desk.

“Aw, don’t be like that, C—“

“Don’t do that,” he snapped. His fingers were stiff, but the pain wasn’t so much that he couldn’t bend them, so he curled them into fists in his lap. “Don’t patronize me.”

Varric’s hands lifted in a warding gesture. “Easy, Curly.”

Cullen blinked, trying to wrap his head around the old nickname. It hadn’t been what he was expecting, and he needed a moment to mentally adjust.

“We’re on the same side. Always were.” He gestured vaguely with one hand as he settled more comfortably in the chair. “And I’m sorry you know, that I thought otherwise once upon a time,” Varric said quietly. 

A few more seconds passed while Cullen replayed what he just heard in his mind. His throat felt dry; hands clammy. He wiped them off on his slacks and risked a glance at Varric, who was making steady eye contact. 

“You look good,” Varric added, smiling crookedly.

Cullen rolled his eyes, ignoring the way it pulled at his headache. “So I’ve been told.” 

“By Feathers?” Varric asked tilting his chin at the picture of Trevelyan in the open file before him. 

“By Alistair,” Cullen answered wryly, taking a moment to pointedly close the file and move it aside. He wasn’t going to rise to the bait. “And Leliana, if you must know.” 

Varric tsked. “We were having a moment there, and then you went and ruined it by lying.”

Much to his chagrin, the resident mabari, Dante, who had fallen into the habit of napping on his sofa in the afternoon, perked up. While he enjoyed the quiet companionship, Cullen was terribly aware of whose he was. How could he not be? Evelyn was beautiful, and based on the way she carried herself, she knew it. 

The things she had said… He couldn’t reconcile it all in his head, and truthfully, Cullen wanted to pretend it didn’t happen. It was hard to know what he truly deserved these days, but things like that weren’t anywhere on the list.

“What does it matter if she did?” His tone was clipped, chastising, and Cullen did his best to ignore the narrowing of Dante’s eyes.

“It doesn’t. I just missed that pretty blush of yours.” 

“Maker above, I hate you,” Cullen sighed, even as Dante  _ snorted.  _ The heat on his cheeks increased from further embarrassment.

Varric laughed, the sound starting low in his chest and shaking its way through him. “Never change, Curly.”

That was frustrating. Varric  _ knew _ he had changed. He knew there was a time where Cullen once was all the things he strived to be: respected, authoritative, even feared. Working for that greater good, but then everything  _ changed.  _

Cullen glared at him. “Shouldn’t we be debriefing or something?”

“Nah,” Varric said dismissively. “We don’t debrief without Feathers.”

“Of course we don’t.” He managed to keep his building irritation tamped down, but just barely. 

Varric glanced over his shoulder at Dante. “Don’t worry, she’s on her way back.” 

At that, the dog rested his head between his paws once again and closed his eyes with a quiet sigh. It made Cullen feel incredibly selfish for acting so indifferent and callous in regards to Trevelyan. Of course, they cared for Evelyn beyond whatever utilitarian purpose she served the Resistance, and while he didn’t wish her any harm, that level of attachment was something that had been trained out of him. It had been nearly a decade since he’d called or written his own siblings, and it shamed him to acknowledge a majority of that timespan couldn’t be blamed on the danger doing so would bring upon them. 

While he thought of something to say, Cullen lit a cigarette and found he couldn’t even be pleased that his hands weren’t shaking. When he looked at Varric again, the dwarf’s mouth quirked into something that wasn’t quite a smile.

“I get it's frustrating, not having all the information, but some things don’t read well on paper. Do they, Curly?” 

The tangle of guilt and self-loathing twisted inside of him; briefly loosening in the face of genuine understanding only to snap back together tighter than before. Cullen braced an elbow on the desk and rubbed his fingers back and forth across his forehead. 

“No, they don’t,” he made himself say.

Absently nodding, Varric pushed himself up. “Maybe you could try to remember that when you corner her for answers.”

A strange regret roused in him. Cullen could almost see it, that bright smile of hers fading into something reticent in response to his waspish attitude. 

“It’s hard to forget.” 

“It is,” Varric said; back to him, scratching Dante’s ear. “But you’re not alone in that either. We all have something that we’re dealing with.”

With that, Varric turned and walked toward the door, and Cullen got over his hesitation just before he passed through the threshold. 

“How’s Hawke?”

Halting, Varric drummed his fingers on the doorframe a moment before turning around. “Doing what he can to forget.”

Cullen nodded, then cleared his throat. “And you?”

“I’ve still got Bianca.” Varric smiled, but there was no joy in it. 

Cullen returned the not-smile without really thinking about it. While he could grasp the concept of losing a sister, he couldn’t begin to comprehend the loss of a wife; either way, Cullen found he cared very much about how his old associates were handling Bethany’s passing. However, he didn’t care for people poking around in his life, so he didn’t press. 

“I’m sure she’d love to catch up,” Varric said. “The range is nice. It’d probably do you some good to get out of this office. Let off some steam. Unless you’d rather prune roses with His Majesty.” 

Cullen smirked at the image. “Maybe tomorrow? The range that is, not the roses.”

“It’s a date. See you around, Beans.” Varric winked with all his usual good humor and closed the door behind him.

Lifting his head, the mabari regarded Cullen with a wary expression as if expecting him to say something about the nickname. 

Cullen drew on his cigarette, then tapped the ash into the crystal ashtray. “I wasn’t going to say a word.” 

They shared a long, silent look then. Some mutual understanding that Cullen couldn’t put his finger on passed between them. Eventually, the moment lapsed, but the unfamiliar camaraderie did not. 

Cullen had spent most of his life alone, even when he was surrounded by people. Such was the way of things. The Commander had to always appear calm and in control, distant and above any and all attachment, but he wasn’t that person anymore, and for the first time ever he entertained the thought that might be for the better. 

Something seemed to unravel in him then. It almost felt like some of the jagged pieces inside him fit back together the way they were supposed to. He wasn’t sure how or why that would happen, given being around people seemed to bring out the worst in him, but if old associates and new acquaintances could accept that, perhaps he could. 

Already he knew he was not going to sleep that night, no matter how much he tried. Yet again, too much was cluttering his mind. At least he was self-aware and could dedicate his time to puzzling together as much as possible instead of tossing and turning in his bed.

_______________________________________________________________________________

At around 23:00, a car came up the drive. Long after it passed from view, he continued to peer out into the darkness. Not for the first time, he found himself wondering if the sky above was even real.

Eventually, he turned his gaze to Trevelyan’s file on the corner of his desk. Cullen could not have described the feeling that had come over him if he wanted to, and so he didn’t try. Instead, he focused on his instincts, which were screaming at him to not corner her tonight and go find something to eat.

After tidying up his desk, he set out for the kitchen. His hand ran along the banister as he ringed the open corridor area to reach the grand staircase. Despite himself, as Cullen began to descend, he looked up at the door to her rooms which was located on the opposite side of the War Room from his suite. The door was cracked; room dark. He didn’t know what to make of that, nor the low voices coming from the library as he passed by, but as far as he was concerned none of it was his business and so his stride never slowed. 

Until he entered the kitchen. 

When he opened the heavy wooden door, he paused and raised his eyebrows. On occasion, he ran into others there in the middle of the night, mainly The Iron Bull and Alistair, but seeing the one person he had promised himself to leave be had him exhaling a slow breath and wondering if he could back out unnoticed. 

He couldn’t.

“Hey, you,” Evelyn said, looking over her shoulder from the far side of the kitchen. 

“Welcome back,” he managed. 

She returned her attention to whatever she was making on the stovetop. “Thanks. It’s nice to be back.” Before Cullen could come up with a response, Evelyn continued. “I was glad to hear you decided to stick around.”

The part of him that never stopped assessing a situation told him he was intruding upon some ritual of hers. Tossing together a sandwich and eating it would take maybe ten minutes, tops, then he’d be out of her way. Allowing the door to swing shut behind him, Cullen picked a roll from the breadbasket without looking on his way to the refrigerator on the right side of the kitchen. 

“You didn’t think I’d stay?” 

Turning off the burner, Evelyn moved the small saucepan onto a potholder near a stand mixer. “Honestly, I wasn’t sure what you’d do when you found out about that contact of yours.”

Cullen set the onion roll down on the large island between the two rows of countertops and turned around to open the refrigerator. “I was hoping we could talk about that,” he said, then closed his eyes and bit the inside of his lower lip in reprimand. 

“Among other things I imagine,” she said with a smile in her voice. 

He sighed. “When you have the time of course.”

“I have plenty of time now if you’d like.” 

“Are you sure?” 

She chuckled a little. A cabinet door creaked open. “Wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t.” 

“Alright,” Cullen said, grabbing the roast beef and aged cheddar. It had been well-hidden in the very back, and he briefly wondered who would do that. 

“Do you like walnuts and dark chocolate?” 

Cullen blinked at the back of her head, taken off guard by the unexpected shift in conversation. It took him a moment to process why she would ask that. The two cookie sheets lined with wax paper at the opposite end of the island helped piece it together. 

“I do. Are you putting raisins in them?”

She looked over her shoulder again, brow raised. “I can if you’d like.”

Averting his gaze, Cullen cleared his throat, but then only shrugged indifferently.

“Raisins it is,” she said, rising up on her tiptoes to grab a box of them from the open cabinet. “Once I’m done with this, we can chat.” Evelyn then turned on the stand mixer. 

Her preoccupation allowed him to focus on what he was doing and not on the fact his ears and cheeks were burning. It slowly faded as Cullen constructed his sandwich. Once finished, he put everything back, precisely where he found it and decided to eat directly off of the butcher block instead of unnecessarily dirtying a plate. Cullen was wiping off his hands and mouth with a rag when the whirring of the stand mixer ceased. 

Evelyn ran a small spatula through and around the paddle to scrape off all the cookie dough, then tossed it and the mixer attachment into a large mixing bowl with the rest of her dirty dishes. 

Cullen licked his dry lips. “Do you mind getting me a glass of water?” he asked as her bare feet began to move away from him toward the sink. Asking for the favor was more palatable than potentially getting in her way.

“Sure,” Evelyn said, placing the bowl into the sink. “As long as you toss the dough into the fridge for me.”

It was a fair trade, so Cullen grabbed the stainless steel bowl and moved things around in the refrigerator until there was more than enough room for the container to rest without having to worry it may tumble out when the door reopened. When he turned around, Evelyn was setting a full glass of water onto the island. Her lips quirked almost into a smile.

What he wanted to say was  _ thank you,  _ but what came out was: “What happened?” And though his voice was surprisingly even, he swore he saw the barest trace of a wince from her. 

“Where do you want to start, exactly?” she asked, gesturing vaguely. 

Honestly, he didn’t know where to start. 

Scar tissue covered the entirety of her left arm. Most of it was a silvery web, but there were red patches on her hand and within her palm some dark, jagged mark. Then there was the bruise on her face. It was a lurid purple-and-pink and about the size of her hand, surrounding her left eye and wrapping around the side of her head. Part of it was swollen and prevented her eye from fully opening. All in all, it looked like someone tried to bash her head in, and very nearly succeeded.

Cullen felt something in his mind snap. 

“You had Harding with you.” It came out like an accusation, but her gaze never wavered from his. It made his heartbeat speed up a little. Ignoring it, he soldiered on. “You weren’t supposed to get close.” 

“I made a call. It was the wrong one. But it was still  _ my  _ call.” Her tone was firm, brokered no argument, and left him feeling as if she were reminding him of his place. 

_ Wherever that was. _

The bite of annoyance that came over him at the errant thought was sharp.

“Why would you take a perfectly straightforward task and use it as an opportunity to try and get yourself killed?”

“Probably the same reason Hawke kicked down your door that day instead of having Varric put a bullet in your head from across the street,” Evelyn said, staring at him. 

He swallowed and braced himself against the island with his hands. Absently, he glanced at the door. Cullen could just leave. Already having fucked up this attempt at conversation beyond repair he wouldn’t even need to say anything.

“Bentley worked with Leliana for years and there have been millions of opportunities for him to turn on us,” she said into the silence. “Who knows why now, but me rising from the dead was a surefire way to test his loyalty.”

“I don’t understand,” he admitted. 

“I know you don’t and I’ll correct that.” 

Cullen slowly nodded in acknowledgment. “Why didn’t you defend yourself? Or at least put up a barrier?”

Evelyn made a face. “People look the other way if a woman is being put in her place, but they’ll always remember seeing a mage.” 

As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t disagree. So, he just stood there, seething in disgust.

“Either way, Bentley is dead and so is the guy he was reporting to. Everything is fine,” she said after a minute.

Cullen laughed weakly. “It  _ really _ isn’t, Evelyn. I mean, look at you.” 

Briefly, she chewed on her full bottom lip. “I’m alright,” Evelyn finally said. “But thank you, for your concern.” It was mildly disconcerting how she refused to break eye contact when she said it as if trying to figure out why he would care. 

He wished he knew.

Cullen stood straight and crossed his arms over his chest. “Did you go see Abby at least?” 

“Did you?” Evelyn hummed; her eyes softly accusing as the corner of her mouth turned up into a smirk.

He breathed out a small laugh, and they shared a smile. 

“Seriously though, how are you? You’re looking a little paler than when I last saw you.” 

“Alright,” Cullen answered, shrugging one shoulder. “Better than I was, but still tired.”

“At least you never lie to me outright,” she mused, moving the untouched glass of water closer to him. Her head tilted fractionally to the side. 

While the pounding swimming in his skull had been persistent all day, it was his hands that were really bothering him. She knew it too. How was beyond him, but he resented it nonetheless.

Cullen glared at her, but he couldn’t maintain it long with her looking up at him like that. Calm and contained, a little worried perhaps, and without a trace of pity. For a moment, he considered not only telling her about how his fingers were painfully stiff but also his concern surrounding the ever-present cold slowly creeping its way up his forearms. It was usually an early sign of an impending episode. But he didn’t tell her any of that, because there was something crushing about admitting he feared laying around for several hours feeling utterly worthless and miserable. 

“I’m no Abby, but I might be able to help if you care to humor me while we talk?”

Cullen shook his head, sighing quietly. “Nothing helps.”

Evelyn held her marked hand up. “Try me.” 

“May I ask what happened first?”

She leaned over the island, bracing herself with her forearms. “Something went wrong when I tried to take the Orb,” Evelyn began, not looking at him. 

He felt it before he saw it. The hum of it against the lyrium embedded deep in his very bones. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end as the mark in the palm of her hand began to glow emerald green. Lighted traceries bloomed under her skin; it was as beautiful as it was grotesque, and mercifully faded away just before her elbow. The possibility of slipping into an episode suddenly felt insignificant, and Cullen wondered, not for the first time, if she was even okay. 

“We call it the Anchor because without it the Orb doesn’t work right.” The air went quiet, and he watched her thumb idly run back and forth over the black mark. “So, even though it’s forever mine, at least I seriously crippled his plans for a while.” Lifting her head, she gave him a weak smile. 

Disregarding the stiffness in this fingers, Cullen pulled the water glass closer to him and hesitated. There weren’t words to adequately describe how he felt about the information. All he knew was things weren’t as dire as he’d initially believed. The Orb, while still a threat, was mostly an empty one at the moment. What that meant for Evelyn, however, was another matter. 

“Time’s running out though,” she added, and he thought Evelyn sounded a little bit sad. 

_ For the Resistance, or for her?  _

Cullen swallowed down the question and chased it with some water because there were some things he just shouldn’t ask.

“Solas says Amladaris has finally made some progress trying to recreate it.” Evelyn stood straight, pausing when she noticed the flour handprint on the skirt of her simple black dress. Sighing, she began to brush at it. “And Madame de Fer tells us until it’s ready, he will attempt to mandate Orlais. Knowing Celene, she’ll concede, but it’ll just bite her in the ass. Too bad Gaspard isn’t in charge; he’d make Amladaris work for it at least, and now I’m just rambling,” she said, frowning to herself as she gave up on the now hardly noticeable blotch on her dress to push her hair back from her good eye. 

Cullen smiled, charmed at seeing her a little outside of herself for the first time. “You could barely see it in the first place.”

Evelyn seemed to relax a little. “Liar,” she accused, smiling in return. 

“But not an outright one,” Cullen replied lightly. 

“You’re terrible,” she said, laughing, and his heart hiccuped in his chest at hearing that sound from her again. 

“But not too terrible," he said, clearing his throat. “Because a deal is a deal.” But then he realized it was because he didn’t want… whatever this was between them to end. Trevelyan was a mystery. She hinted at everything, but gave him nothing; an itch in the back of his mind he couldn’t quite scratch. The unfamiliar desire to understand someone unmoored him. 

“Even though you don’t think it’ll work?” she asked, turning away to preheat the oven. 

“Especially because I don’t think it’ll work,” Cullen said dryly. 

One corner of her mouth lifted lazily. “I look forward to your sincere, heartfelt thanks,” Evelyn said, enunciating the last three words very slowly as she walked off, “once I’m done.”

Cullen almost laughed, but the promise in her tone did something funny to his breathing. Almost like he couldn’t quite draw a full breath. Then it nearly stopped altogether when Evelyn perched her suitcase on a kitchen chair and bent over it. Abruptly he turned aside and finished off the glass of water. 

There was something about Evelyn he hadn’t felt in a long time. The occasional dalliance at the Rose was nothing; neither participant wanted the other, just what the other had. Merely a transaction, albeit a depressing one. But Evelyn, she would be—

Cullen pressed his cold fingers to his forehead; chastising himself for thinking such things because she wasn't even  _ doing  _ anything to encourage it. 

“You okay?” The concern in her voice only made him feel worse. 

“I’m fine. Just getting a refill.” Which, once again, wasn’t an outright lie. “Can I get you anything?”

“To be honest, I’d love a drink, but I might have a slight concussion so I should probably stick to water.”

He mashed his mouth into a hard line to stop himself from snapping at her. There was little to no room for him to lecture anyone about taking better care of themselves. So he only exhaled a breath through his nostrils and did as asked. 

When Cullen joined Evelyn at the table, a small smile slipped across her face. 

“Thanks,” she said, taking a sip before exchanging the glass out for the small jar she had retrieved from her suitcase. Evelyn scooped out a small amount of the clear ointment with her fingertips. 

With only the slightest bit of hesitation did Cullen sit cater-cornered from her and extend his right hand out, resting it on the tabletop between them. Evelyn seemed to share a little bit of his reluctance because she briefly looked him over before taking his hand in hers. Their fingers intertwined as she coated his hand with the concoction. It almost hurt. The warmth of her seemed to sear across his frozen skin. Branding him. A wave of gooseflesh crawled across his flesh. Her eyes flickered up to his and Cullen made a conscious effort to ease his posture. He then realized that her once over had been something else entirely. It hit him hard and all at once, and some part of him wished she just didn’t  _care._

“What’s it made out of?” Cullen asked, trying to remember the last time someone touched him because they  _ wanted  _ to. 

Evelyn smiled at that as she continued to map out the shape of his hand. He could easily engulf both of hers in his one. A flare of heat started to make it’s way down his throat, filling his chest where his heart was beginning to race, then extending down his limb. Or was it the other way around? Cullen rubbed at the back of his neck with his free hand. It was flaming, and for once the ice-cold feel of his hand was a blessing.

“Royal elfroot,” she answered. 

“Bullshit.” He hadn’t meant to say it aloud, but he did. 

Evelyn hummed philosophically. “Pretty soon you’ll be making fun of my ‘weird fascination with elfroot’ just like everyone else.” There was a sparkle in her evergreen eye, the other… it remained red-rimmed and heavy-lidded. That irrational, hot anger welled up and burned through him again. 

“I sincerely doubt that,” Cullen said, managing to draw no attention to what he was really feeling. 

Her cheeks tinted a slight pink. “Is this okay?” Evelyn asked, putting steady pressure on the creaking pain in his little finger. 

Cullen mumbled an affirmative, enjoying the attentive touch on each joint as she slowly worked her way up the digit. It was unlike anything he’d ever felt before. Simultaneously good and bad, as if she were wringing out the pain and extracting it through his fingertip. 

“So, this contact of yours, how do you want to handle it?” 

“If we went to my place, what would we be walking into exactly?” The thanks he owed her for getting him out of there, alive, and not allowing him the option to botch anything sat like lead in his stomach. It only seemed heavier when he passed over the opportunity. 

“A trap,” Evelyn said, succinctly. 

“You don’t say?”

She chuckled. “The severity of it will give us a pretty decent idea how far up and how close you came to the supply lines.” 

Mulling things over, Cullen scratched his chin. What was thick stubble when he last saw her was now a full beard. Sure, borrowing a razor was optional, but the unfamiliarity of it would be risky with the unpredictable tremor of his hand. Plus he wanted  _ his _ blade. It was one of the first things he purchased after emerging from the worst of detox. As ridiculous as the sentimentality was. 

“Time might allow the waters to settle, but then they would know something was up. Potentially change things if they haven’t already.” 

“I agree,” she said, moving her focus from his middle finger to pointer. “We can leave tomorrow after debriefing all the teams that were out.” 

“We?”

“Well, yeah. As far as I’m concerned you’re part of the Council.”

“No, that’s not— wait, what?” 

“The Templars are beyond us. The Order has always been secretive, but it’s way worse now. You weren’t just high ranking but also stationed at the Citadel, so you know the people in charge now, or at least who they were.”

Cullen felt a swell of anger at hearing those things be considered people, but didn’t interrupt.

“You’ll probably pick up on the signs we’ve been missing all these years easily. And as far as New Haven goes, you’re not going alone,” she said with finality, releasing him to get more ointment.

“I understand that, but Evelyn, you’re injured,” he reminded. 

When her touch came back, she recoated his hand before turning it over. His fingers curled a little on their own, already moving easier thanks to her efforts and the salve. Her thumbs began to press and slide over the rough palm of his hand in such a way he never wanted her to stop. 

“This is nothing. It won’t affect my ability to cast or shoot if necessary. Plus, you’re not the only one with a personal interest in the outcome of this and why is not what you think. Well, not entirely at least.”

The urge to argue was strong, but he couldn’t deny her this. Not with her father’s final moments seared into his memory. 

“Fine,” Cullen replied obstinately. “But you will stick to whatever plan we come up with.”

One corner of her mouth ticked up ever so slightly. It was somewhat obnoxious. “Unless circumstances say otherwise.” She pressed firmly into the meat of his palm before beginning to work her way up his thumb. 

He made a noise at her, and she truly smiled then. 

“Don’t worry, I’m not reckless,” Evelyn said. “I’ll get your other hand in a sec, I have to put the cookies in the oven.” 

Cullen watched her walk away. “I don’t think you’re reckless. You wouldn’t be here if you were.” 

“I got sucked into this nightmare a long time ago,” she said, sounding unbelievably tired. “And I’m still not sure if my survival has been from good luck or bad.”

His knee-jerk reaction was to reject her negativity, but hearing something he dwelled on far more than he cared to admit in regards to his own survival stunned him into silence. Cullen wasn’t quite sure how to respond. Then, because his mouth decided it needed to speak the things it shouldn’t, he asked:

“How long ago?” 

“Three years,” she answered, frowning. Evelyn slung the rag she dried her clean hands off with over her shoulder. A drawer opened and closed. “You joked about the sewers, but some of us still operate out of Darktown. It’s a maze, and it kills more of them than we do. Off-putting as Darktown is, it’s still better than where I started.”

“And where was that?” Cullen asked after giving her a moment to collect her thoughts as she deftly portioned out cookies with an ice cream scoop. It was apparent Evelyn didn't wish to discuss this. 

“With the Venatori, but it wasn’t—“ she cut off at the rise of his hand. Evelyn paled a little. 

“You don’t need to explain. Alistair said most mages with you all are undercover and the ones who aren’t had to blow their cover.”

She looked faintly startled as if she didn’t quite believe he’d accept that so quickly, if at all. “Well, it was a little more complicated than that, but if it’s sufficient at the moment, there’s something else I want to tell you,” Evelyn said, scraping the bottom of the bowl. The sound of metal-on-metal was more than a little grating. Mercifully it didn’t last long. 

“I know very little of what happened at Kinloch other than you had been tortured,” she said, not looking at him. “And I’m sorry for using it against you like that. It was… cruel of me.” 

Frowning, Cullen looked down at his hands. The joints were red and swollen on the one that hadn’t received her treatment. He felt like he should be mad at her but he wasn’t. Instead, some part of himself withered away. Collapsed in on itself. And he was mad at himself for feeling that way at all because this endeavor wasn’t about receiving someone else’s acceptance.

“I think, you did what was best for both of us and I do not hold that against you,” Cullen said softly once she was done rewashing her hands. 

“Then maybe with a little luck, you won’t hold the rest of it against me,” Evelyn said, sliding back into her seat. 

Cullen put his other hand on the table between them without hesitation this time. “The rest of what?” 

“The undercover bit,” she answered dipping her fingers into the jar again. 

He shook his head without really thinking about it. “We don’t have to discuss that now.”

That buzzing warmth was back the split second their skin touched. Stronger this time because Evelyn also didn’t hesitate. Her eyes flicked up from their hands to his mouth, and he knew she was looking at that scar on his lip. Cullen didn’t know what any of that meant, but he found little reason to have an issue with it. 

”You deserve to know.” She dragged a thumb along the scar on the back of his hand, old and almost entirely faded, before setting to work on his pinky finger. 

He licked his chapped lips. “I think it’s safe to assume you went undercover to get the Orb and when that went south, you staged your death, so Amladaris thought you and the Anchor were gone.” 

“Close, but not quite.” Evelyn gave him a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I was working on my thesis in Minrathous when Dorian approached me saying his mentor was dabbling in something dangerous. It’s a long story, so I’ll spare you the details. After the confrontation was all said and done, we had enough information to know we were in way over our heads. My father got us in touch with Warden Commander Amell.”

The sound of that name twisted at something unpleasantly inside of him. Alistair had been very careful not to mention his wife around him. It was childish really. On both their ends. Eirlys was only an infatuation Cullen had during basic training a lifetime ago. Who wouldn’t have chosen Alistair over him, even now? 

He felt Evelyn’s fingers brush over his wrist, nothing more than a ghost of a touch, but intentional nonetheless. It was as comforting as it was grounding. Bringing him back from wherever he was mentally trying to go.

“I’m still not sure why the Wardens believed us, but they did. We did as instructed; joined the Venatori, even helped them take over Tevinter.” She paused for a minute, seeming to focus on controlling her breathing. “Amladaris wants to tear down the Veil."

Cullen just looked at her with the pretense of calm and lifted his eyebrows. Such a feat would secure his alliance with the Demons and then it wouldn't matter how many countries Amladaris had under his control.

“The Breach opening was me trying to take the Orb. It was accidental,” Evelyn muttered, releasing him. “And we were so focused on getting the Anchor under control that we didn’t realize something was going on in Ferelden until it was too late.” Guilt was written on her face, and it pulled at him funny.

Cullen very pointedly turned his hand over but said nothing. He didn’t trust himself to say the right thing. Actions spoke louder than words, and all he could do was hope she understood. 

“I want to make it right,” Evelyn said softly, eyes looking anywhere that wasn’t him as she took his hand in hers once again. He believed her, and she knew it from the way the lines on her face relaxed. 

“So do I,” he murmured, and though the clench of his other hand into a fist was subtle, she didn’t miss it.

“As far as me playing dead goes, it’s just safer for everyone this way. Amladaris hunting me down is what took Kirkwall from us, and there wasn’t a need to fake my death. Calpernia gave me that much before she nose-dived off the Gallows,” Her hand came up and touched at the scar under her jawline before pressing the pad of her thumb into a particularly sensitive spot in his palm. It didn’t hurt, exactly, but the way it made his nerves tingle left him wondering what else those hands might be able to do. 

“Why don't you have to stay put like Alistair?” 

“Alistair is a symbol in his own right, even more so after his family was slaughtered. I’m nobody and publicly hunting me down would have made me somebody.” Evelyn slid her thumbs over his palm one last time before leaning back in the chair. 

Breathing very carefully, Cullen tried to convince himself he’d be perfectly fine with that never happening again. 

And failed. 

“Leliana has taught me it’s not such a bad thing to be seen, as long as you look like you have every right to be there and are quickly forgotten,” Evelyn shrugged, wiping the excess ointment from her right hand onto her affected forearm. 

_ How could anyone forget that face?  _

He wrung his hands together until the ointment was absorbed almost fully into his skin. The warmth of her was already gone, but not forgotten. 

“How are your hands?” She asked, gently touching at her bruised eye with her opposite hand. 

“I believe I owe you that sincere, heartfelt thanks,” Cullen said, clearing his throat.

Evelyn raised an eyebrow. “Don’t overdo it now.”

“Shut up,” he grumbled, cheeks heating.

She chuckled a little. “You’re welcome.” It was genuine and warm, and it did something weird to his stomach. “I’ll get you a full jar. Just go easy on it. Royal elfroot grows really damn slow.”

“I can’t accept that.” 

Her brow furrowed. “How about some regular ointment then?” 

“If you insist," Cullen replied. When Evelyn only frowned and walked away, the truth spilled from him. “I’d be grateful; I  _ am  _ grateful, for everything you’ve done.” 

Her motions slowed for one too many heartbeats, then Evelyn finished taking the cookies out of the oven. Cullen found her cheeks were a lovely shade of pink when she turned to face him. Reflexively, he gave her a smile, which she returned. 

“Would you like one?” She asked, placing her hand on the island. For a half-second, her magic bloomed in the air; light and crisp. 

“Sure,” he said, pushing himself out of the chair. Cullen finished off his glass water and brought her hardly touched one along with him. 

Evelyn had retrieved the second baking sheet and was pinching the corner of the wax paper to slide it, and the cookies on it, onto the countertop alongside the others already cooling on the delicate whorls of frost. 

“You didn’t dice the raisins,” he observed, picking one at random. The chocolate was still warm and gooey. He sucked it off his finger before taking a bite. 

“They weren’t for Sera, they were for you.” 

Cullen could feel the blush creeping up his neck that matched the one darkening her cheeks. 

“They’re good.”

“Thanks,” Evelyn said, smiling. 

They subsided into silence then. It wasn’t exactly comfortable. There was some underlying, private tension they seemed to share. Cullen itched to escape it and did as soon as he finished eating the cookie. 

Alone in his room, the silence was even worse. His thoughts kept catching on her. It frustrated him because Cullen had assumed once he filled in some of the blanks that would get better, not worse. But there was something about Evelyn he wanted to sink his teeth into. His mind continued to run, trying to figure out what it was until he forgot about his cold hands. And when Cullen saw Evelyn the next day, he couldn’t help but wonder if the dark circle under her good eye was because she couldn’t forget about them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Patreon reward sketch of Cullen in Ev's sunglasses by [chatnoir-art](https://chatnoir-art.tumblr.com).  
> 


	5. Rip apart what's in my hand, dwell upon what's not been said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is lyrics from The Heavy's [Nobody's Hero](https://open.spotify.com/track/5mQ6TIlWVBnoxhAWdgtEfB?si=LvFvYwV9TbKqw43Aled8cg).
> 
> Trigger warning for references to torture/imprisonment & gun violence. 
> 
> I’ve never written any type of battle scene or violence (don’t feel capable of doing it justice), so keep that in mind when I gloss over a bulk of one late in this chapter.

Council wasn’t as taxing as Cullen expected, but it was close. Debriefing the dispatched teams was followed up by discussing pressing intelligence matters, which was practically everything on the table. It took  _ hours  _ to cover it all. What little remained was queued, and by the end of the day, copies of all relevant information on those topics would be delivered to each of them for review. The rest would be filed away in the War Room for them to reference as necessary. 

Leliana, Josephine, and Evelyn operated like a well-oiled machine. Not the handful of unmanageable women Alistair had implied. The occasional argument was somehow vastly entertaining as opposed to something catty or mindless. Of course, there were times Cullen questioned the wisdom behind their logic, but his objections and opinions were always factored into the final decision. He melded seamlessly into their dynamic. It was oddly fulfilling, if not somewhat perplexing. 

All it had taken was his passive observation on why their agents weren’t gathering valuable intel in areas densely populated with Red Templars and Evelyn handed over the reigns. Just like that. While he outlined a behavioral plan to Leliana that would minimize suspicion, Evelyn and Josephine moved to the end of the long table. Talked in low voices as they stared down at the map. The fragments of their discussion he could pick up on were distracting, to say the least. 

Politics was something Cullen had always loathed, but he could discern the difference between the kind of politicking Josephine was master at and the kind he was. Which was the kind that must be approached as a strategist. Thinking of the players as one would a game of chess. One careful action and reaction at a time. 

Amladaris was shrewd and ruthless and would go to any lengths to extend his reach. If Orlais elected to concede, his empire would be born. As it was not a country remained that didn’t share a border with the makings of it, but the annexation of Orlais would hand Kal-Sharkok over on a silver platter. Rivian, Antiva and the northern states of the Free Marches sheltered by the Vimmark Mountains already struggled to maintain supply lines through Nevarra, but should the last lyrium stronghold finally fall under Amladaris’ dominion, all would be lost. 

Whatever piece of information the two women were discussing must have been severe because rather than chew on her lip like Cullen noticed Evelyn did when considering something deeply, she went very still. 

Cullen leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms, looking from Evelyn to Josephine and back; puzzling over what she could have possibly seen that Josephine didn’t. Montilyet was perceptive; void, all three women were. Undeniably, it was why the Resistance hadn’t collapsed yet. But Cullen was also perceptive. Looking at Leliana, he raised his eyebrows.

Leliana elected to only lift one finger and continue jotting down notes. 

Cullen rolled his eyes at that, and though her gaze never lifted from the page before her, Leliana caught that too. Just as he had caught her eyes on him. The natural pout of her lips quirked up into an arch smile. A moment more, and Leliana finished. Setting her fountain pen aside, she threaded her fingers together over her notepad and tilted her head as if considering him. 

“So,” Leliana said, pausing. Her smile ticked a hair wider. “Before we adjourn, shall we speak of this outing you two have planned?” 

“It’s sensible to be cautious—” Evelyn began at the same time Cullen said, “There’s nothing to discuss.” They exchanged a brief glance. The sudden hint of color on Evelyn’s cheeks only served to make his burn hotter. Josephine had the grace to look incurious, referencing her notes before placing an iron marker onto the map. Leliana on the other hand… Her eyes crinkled in amusement.

Cullen gave the Nightingale a bland look. 

“But as he says,” Evelyn continued, slipping into an armless chair. It was not the same seat she vacated but the empty one that had been between them for the duration of the meeting. “Unless you’ve kept some pertinent piece of information all to yourself, I imagine there is little to discuss.”

Cullen could not help the wry smile that twisted his mouth.

Leliana looked between them, just a quick flick of her eyes, before focusing on Evelyn. “It’s unnecessary.”

“It is necessary, and you know it,” Evelyn replied evenly, but her eyes had an unsettling glint to them. “There is no way his contact knew  _ who _ he was, or he would have turned him in long before he stumbled into the transport lines. Even if they put eyes on him after that, they have no foundation for his behavior and no reason to suspect he’s with us, and we need to keep it that way.”

Reaching into the past and tracing lines into the future, Cullen frowned. Any tails would have been planted across the street to most effectively monitor him so the handshake he shared with Evelyn would have been hidden by the car. Would have looked like nothing more than a momentary flirtation with how close they were standing together. He remembered that smile plastered on her face despite his offense and it hurt knowing even in that she was trying to help him.

Leliana pulled a file from the small stack off to her right, then hesitated. She was calculating something, but then again, she always was. “We may be wrong, but as far as we can tell, they haven’t made any personnel adjustments in New Haven.”

“All the more reason to go,” Evelyn said. 

Leliana set the file down in the middle of the table. “Whatever is inside, if anything, hasn’t left.”

Josephine shot Leliana a scandalized look. “And it won’t. Better to have us play into their hand than have some poor unsuspecting person do it.” 

“It seems I have been overruled,” Leliana said with a sardonic quirk of her lips.

“Look on the bright side, this should solidify the state of things,” Evelyn said to Leliana before pausing to flash him a smirk. “Plus, you've survived, what, two attempts on your life?”

“Three, if you include the Betrayal,” he answered even as the words  _ ‘whatever’  _ and  _ ‘it’  _ continued to bounce around in his thoughts until they reshaped into  _ ‘demons’ _ and  _ ‘Kinloch.’ _

Evelyn pulled the file over. “A fourth will really piss them off, so if we're lucky, they’ll get sloppy and try to bait you out into the open.”

His mouth curved up just a fraction. “I’m not that important.” 

“Don’t be thick,” Evelyn replied, sounding faintly condescending, but she was smiling in a way that filled him with warmth and amusement, and he couldn’t help but return the smile. 

“I’m liable to agree something will come out of this,” Leliana said.

Everything she did was by choice, and he would have thought nothing of her input had Leliana not lilted the edges of her vowels differently than usual. Evelyn picked up on it too, because her motions stalled out for a half-second before stacking the last few pieces of her paperwork atop the rest. 

For a moment, Cullen glared at Leliana and considered calling things off. She knew of his past follies, how quickly he had latched onto kindness and misconstrued it for romantic overtures. And while Cullen was aware Evelyn harbored some sort of affection for him already, he also knew it stemmed from sympathetic understanding. It was the kind that occasionally cropped up between two individuals who experienced similar trauma. Something that gutted them and left them a shell of who they once were. The implication anything more would ever develop between them was absurd. Her remark was nothing but an attempt to undermine his resolve in the matter at hand. 

And it almost worked. 

Before he could snap at Leliana however, Evelyn spoke: “Well, now that we’ve received your blessing...” There was a wry quirk to her mouth as if punctuating how preposterous she found what Leliana’s words carried just underneath. “We should go set things in motion.” 

It was relieving they were on the same page. That he and Evelyn were a united front in regards to the Red Templars. That she viewed him as a colleague with equal footing and nothing more. But a very tiny piece of him resented it — especially when Josephine let out a breathless laugh.

Cullen forced himself to slowly close his notebook and take a deep breath. “I agree.” 

Josephine looked up from the map and tilted her head. Perhaps in apology. “Of course. Be safe.”

They gathered their belongings and left while Leliana and Josephine continued to discuss the state of things in Ferelden. Whether Amladaris believed he had actually removed Alistair from the equation was of no consequence because the masses did. Power came from the people, and citizens stunned into subservience was just as effective, if not more so, than winning them over. Cullen thought on this as he and Evelyn descended one of the curved staircases from the third to second floor. It wasn’t until they were almost to his room that he noticed her delicate features twisted into a frown.

“I’m sorry, did you say something?”

“Nothing of import; I’ll meet you downstairs.” 

A thoughtful frown tugged at his mouth as he watched her disappear into her apartment; her skirt, a flash of rippling, grey silk that reminded him of rolling fog. And just like that,  _ his  _ lake, the one he hadn’t seen since joining the Order at eighteen, cropped up in his mind. He found he missed it, the sound of gently lapping water; watching the fog rise alongside the sun.

Would it even look the same? 

He sure didn’t. 

Time and experience had taken its toll. Looking in the mirror, it never escaped him how  _ worn _ he looked. The slight shadow cast under his eyes complete with lines showing his ever-present stress. He didn’t like acknowledging it was how Evelyn also looked any more than he liked thinking on why that bothered him. Cullen wanted to scrub his hands down his face at the constant fixation on things he shouldn’t be fixating on, but he suppressed the urge. Instead, Cullen exchanged the paperwork he had collected during Council for his travel bag and coat. 

Downstairs, Evelyn was already waiting for him. She stared out a window, absently scratching one of Dante’s ears. Cullen could tell her mind was occupied and he itched to make sure it wasn’t because of his unintentional rudeness. At his approach, she turned around. Her mouth crooked into most of a smile. 

“Ready?”

Cullen opened his mouth to answer, but a semi-amused rasp interrupted him. 

“I’m disappointed in you, Curly,” Varric said, emerging from the study. 

“Whatever for?” Evelyn asked, sounding confused. 

“We had a nice little date planned, and I found out through the grapevine I was going to get stood up.” A pause and Varric’s grin widened into something that would be best described as  _ shit-eating. _ “For you.”

Cullen clenched his jaw with frustration. Must everyone make these insinuations? 

“Take no offense,” Evelyn said with a sigh, perhaps speaking to both of them. “This is for business, not pleasure.”

Varric, in fact, looked gravely offended. “Feathers, any amount of time spent in your company is a true pleasure.” 

Evelyn arched a brow. Then she laughed. “Alright, how much time do you need?” She asked, resuming her attentions on Dante’s ear once the dog resituated himself back at her side.

“Just a bit, when you get back,” Varric shrugged, feigning nonchalance in that infuriating way of his. 

“That doesn’t sound ominous or anything,” Cullen put in, prompting a snort from Dante. 

She ignored them. “We’ll be back tomorrow.”

“I’ve got a bottle of Mackay’s,” Varric said, looking up at her. 

“It's a date,” she said, her voice upbeat, but her evergreen eyes crinkled at the corners with concern. “Tell Bull we said thanks?”

“Sure thing, boss,” Varric said, taking a few steps back. “Watch your asses.” 

Evelyn smiled a little in answer, and Cullen tipped his chin.

“What are we thanking Bull for?” Cullen asked after Varric had disappeared into the empty dining room. 

“He packed us lunch for the road,” she said, crouching down to give the dog, who was nearly the same size as her, a hug. 

Dante sighed and turned his head into the crook of her neck as if pulling her in. Her hand rubbed small circles over the mabari’s scarred shoulder. For its briefness, it was a strangely intimate moment Cullen felt he was intruding upon. 

“Make sure Varric actually thanks him for me?” Despite her peaceful expression, Evelyn sounded weary, and Cullen carried around enough sadness to know sometimes the weight of it all could be overwhelming. 

Dante huffed an affirmative and touched his nose to her cheek before departing. 

On his way by, the mabari bumped into Cullen as if to say  _ good luck.  _ Reflexively, he smiled but then remembered how much he missed having an animal companion. He’d had a dog years ago as a child, but to be imprinted by a mabari. A noble and dedicated hound to call a friend… 

“You’re lucky to have him.” 

Evelyn slowly nodded, and then she smiled ruefully as she straightened her skirt. “Yet again, I don’t know if that’s from good luck or bad.” 

Cullen’s brow furrowed. How could that be a bad thing? What could—

“He was my brother’s,” she said, slinging the single-strap of her bag over her shoulder.

For the most horrifically extended moment, Cullen wanted to say something. Anything. It felt  _ necessary.  _ From what he gathered, her twin had vanished without a trace from his station in Ostwick shortly after Evelyn’s and Dorian’s positions in the Venatori were compromised. The loss of a sibling was something he could fathom. A possibility he worried over. But at least Cullen knew it was precisely that — a possibility. 

But then with a dismissive shrug from Evelyn, the moment was gone. He watched the sway of her skirt as she walked off, thinking on how he had failed her, which didn’t make any sense, but clearly, she had expected something from him. Believed him a better person than he really was. Perhaps, the type of person worthy of someday calling themselves her friend. 

Ignoring the sudden squeeze in his chest was impossible. An expected pang in the numbness he was used to. Feeling that failure with  _ precision. _ Mechanically, he reached into his pants pocket to retrieve a cigarette but found a pair of cat-eyed sunglasses instead. Cullen turned back to the staircase and stared at it. 

Five minutes later, he rushed after Evelyn and found her exactly as he had the first time he had done so. She even smiled the same when their gazes met. Cullen absently rubbed at the damn flutter in his chest, wishing she had greeted him with anger or disappointment in her expression.

“Did you get lost on your way to the front door?” 

His shoes crunched against the gravel. “Forgot this,” he said, lifting the pack in explanation before switching it out for the sunglasses in his pocket. “And I forgot to give these back to you.”

“Oh no, you can keep them,” she said, pushing off the car to dig around in her bag at her hip. “I got some new ones. See?” She slipped a pair of aviators onto her face and beamed up at him.

Cullen hated he couldn’t stop himself from smiling. “You are… the absolute  _ worst,”  _ he said, opening the back door to toss his bag inside. 

“Coming from you, I assume that is the highest of compliments.” 

“It really isn’t,” he said, and then chuckled as he tucked the damned sunglasses into his shirt pocket.

Evelyn pushed the sunglasses up and settled them on top of her head. “I’ll take the first leg.”

Cullen couldn’t help but let his gaze roam over her face, once again taking in her injury. The bruise was still a motley of color, but the swelling was gone. Creation magic and draughts repaired the building blocks of life. Things like broken bones, internal bleeding and residual system damage from detox, apparently. Not pain or the physical evidence of the injury. Ointments were mainly used to improve surface wounds, but could also be used as an analgesic.

Gaze settling on the scar under her jawline, Cullen nodded and tapped a cigarette twice on the face of his wristwatch. He tucked it into his mouth before accepting her bag to place alongside his. Lunch would have to wait until Evelyn was hungry. Digging around through her unmentionables wasn’t something he’d like to do ever again. 

Once lit, Cullen inhaled, blew out the smoke. “So, what’s the plan when we get there?” He asked, shutting the car door. 

Evelyn gave him an odd look. “Don’t die.”

_______________________________________________________________________________

It was nearly midnight when they arrived among the tidy, two-story brick buildings tucked side-by-side on West Fifty-Second Street. Snow fell heavily against the sidewalk and cars lining the street. 

“It’s almost beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Why isn’t it?” He asked, watching Evelyn shoulder her coat and pull her hair from beneath the collar. 

“There’s something dead about it,” she said with distaste. 

The street was deserted, which wouldn’t necessarily be anything unusual given the time of night, but the lack of activity was unnerving. It always was. Warm light never spilled from windows nor laugher. It wasn’t wise to draw attention to oneself, even in such innocent ways — like sitting in a parked car too long. 

They got out. To keep up pretenses for anyone who may be watching, especially the innocent who were better off not seeing anything out of the ordinary, Cullen gave Evelyn his arm; she took his hand instead. He had the strangest urge to run his thumb along the mark, a raised, thick, jagged line, in the palm of her hand. A chill worked its way up his spine as they walked up the brownstone steps to the building Cullen called home for the past year, but couldn’t determine what it stemmed from. All he knew was he trusted her even if he didn’t trust the way his body reacted around her.

Inside, the hallway was well lit. Empty save for a few pieces of mail near his door and the tall, leafy plant in the far corner near the exit leading to the back alley. It needed some water, but that was nothing new. Neither he nor the building owner whom Cullen rented his space from had the inclination to put such things in the forefront of their minds. Occasionally, one of them would remember, and if it were too little too late, a similar shrub with large, shiny, colorful leaves would replace it at some point.

Through the frosted glass of his office door, darkness greeted him. He used to live for this. The tense seconds before that first rush of adrenaline. But this was different. They were intentionally walking into a trap that was no doubt spring-loaded and ready thanks to the click-clack of Evelyn’s high heels rendering any upper hand they may have had null and void. It made his trigger finger itch. If Evelyn was remotely affected by the situation, she didn’t show it on her face. She looked ever much the same; smiled even when he looked down at her. 

As soon as Cullen opened the door, he stepped between Evelyn and whatever was waiting inside. The lamppost outside the window illuminated the white plastic blinds; a faint silvery glow in the gloom. Dust motes drifted, floating in eerily calm patterns. Cullen took a few steps forward, trying to piece together what was out of place because it was  _ something.  _ He glanced over his shoulder to make sure he knew exactly where Evelyn was located. Blinked and then— 

—the scent of stale blood and rotting flesh invaded his nostrils. But it was the lingering burnt ozone of forbidden magic just underneath that make him nearly choke. He could feel the hum of it against his skin just as vividly as the shackles around his wrists holding him upright. Pangs of hunger, sharp like the shards of glass cutting into his feet, and unbearable exhaustion were his constant companions. He prayed for it to end, but no one was listening. The taste of that was sour, more so than the ghosts that visited him in his prison. They would rise and offer him the respite he so desperately wanted, but then it’d never come, and it would start all over with a prayer for it to just  _ end _ — 

A loud, fizzling  _ crack _ yanked Cullen back into the present. 

Hand raised, Evelyn stood in between him and the spindly, grotesque silhouette of Terror. Taking a step back, it’s barbed tail swung around, lashed out. A shimmery emerald halo lit up around them at the contact. The sound ringing in his ears as a portal opened up. Before Cullen could react, there was a brief increase in pressure around him as they became exposed, followed by the  _ thwap thwap thwap  _ of silenced gunfire. The enraged screech it gave was brief, bleeding into a wet, gurgling exhale before the portal closed, plunging them back into darkness. 

Just as quickly as it began, it was over. Cullen felt the reality of what just happened slide under his skin with a stomach-turning smoothness. It had been at least a year since he’d seen a demon and far longer since he’d allowed one to get into his head. Cullen wanted to blame it on the lack of lyrium, but he was simply out of practice. Had spent the past couple of years blending in and the decade before that within the Citadel walls moving soldiers around like pieces on a chessboard. 

“There will be a second,” Evelyn said, tossing up an orb of magelight into the room. 

_ NO. SHIT. _

The nausea roiling through him calmed, but then started to surge again at  _ why  _ Samson would have chosen Terror specifically for him. 

“And a third if we’re really unlucky,” Evelyn continued, “but we can’t let them slip away since I used the Anchor. They’ll sense it; know what I am.”

A thread of realization wormed its way into his mind where it took root and  _ festered.  _ Cullen wanted to lambast Evelyn for referring to herself as a  _ what  _ instead of  _ who.  _ Grab her chin and make her look at him as he did so since she wouldn’t even glance his general direction.  

But now wasn’t the time. 

“Alright,” Cullen managed between gritted teeth. “What is this?” He asked of the strange energy draping over him. 

“A charm. It’ll absorb one hit, no matter how strong, just make sure there isn’t a follow-up,” Evelyn said, making her way to the closed door leading to his minuscule living quarters. 

The spell proved unnecessary even though it was welcome considering they ended up being really unlucky. After being flung violently across the small room by a flash of light and a  _ pop _ of noise, both Terrors went down in a dark spray of blood, spattering the walls and the front of her clothes. She tried to wipe it off her face with her coat sleeve, doing no more than smearing it across her cheek. He couldn’t help but notice the fine tremor in her limb. Opening the closet door, Cullen grabbed a shirt for her. It was like the one she was wearing just… larger. 

“Change into this,” Cullen instructed. 

Evelyn blinked at him. It was the first time she met his gaze since they entered this place. And although Cullen couldn’t say for sure her eyes were watery with tears, there was definitely some intense emotion there. 

“Is it in my hair?”

“No,” he said gently. 

“I usually pin it up. I don’t know why I didn’t.” It sounded like an apology, and while Cullen wasn’t sure why she would apologize for something like that, he was more concerned about her state of mind. 

It had been unfortunate for him being taken unaware like that, but he had reached for his abilities as soon as he snapped out of it to keep his mind clear and focus sharp. Evelyn, however, didn’t have that luxury. They would have sensed her connection to the Fade instantaneously; conjured up anything and everything to overwhelm her. Promising to stop if she would only let them in. 

“Evelyn,” he said, taking a step closer and setting the shirt down onto a clean corner of the small bed. “Put that on for me. We’ll take your clothes with us.”

After a moment, she nodded and loaded a full magazine into her handgun before discarding it and her jacket. Cullen abruptly abandoned the task of emptying out his closet when she began to unbutton her shirt. Her actions weren’t immodest; Cullen understood her urgency to get the evidence of their ordeal  _ off, _ but it didn’t stop him from blushing profusely at getting a glimpse of the curve of her breasts disappearing into her delicate lace bra.

In the bathroom, Cullen turned the water on and while he waited for it to warm up, packed up his toiletries into a small leather bag. Once finished, he held a washcloth under the stream and wrung out the excess before bringing it to her. 

His shirt swallowed her, but the sight of it… he shook his head and then shook it again because that he liked it was inappropriate. 

“Here,” he said. 

“Thank you,” she said; the corner of her mouth quirking up, but it wasn’t a smile or anything that could be mistaken for one. It was odd, and Cullen felt an uneasy sense of discontent creep over him. Mixing in with the adrenaline still pumping through him. He felt hot, and filthy, even though he had not a speck on him.

Silently, they packed up the remainder of his meager belongings as quickly as possible, being sure to grab all documentation on his most recent case, and left. The authorities would know what happened here as would the individuals planted in their midst to keep everyone in check. 

On the stoop, Evelyn slipped on a stray patch of ice. Reflexively, he grabbed hold of her, dropping the duffle bag into the snow. It landed with a soft _whoomp._

They stood there a minute, still holding onto one another. It wasn’t what he thought it’d be. Evelyn had snow in her hair, but it should be melting from the heat of her body. Unnaturally worried about this woman, he touched the backs of his fingers to the side of her face. Nothing burned like the cold unless it was already inside. 

“It’ll pass. Think nothing of it,” Evelyn said. Her expression was surprisingly hard to read considering how open and frank she always was with him. 

As much as he didn’t want to, he let it and her go because some wounds never truly heal; he didn’t want to rip anything back open with one misplaced word or touch.

Cullen watched her walk away and wondered why he suddenly felt lonely and uncertain. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kal-Sharkok rests on the border between Orlais & the Anderfells, I spent about an hour staring at maps & delving into dwarven lore to make sure this string of world building made sense. Take pity on me if I still somehow got it wrong... *sobs*
> 
> Next time: probably going to give this thing its E rating to keep with my “from sex to love” (flash burn//slow build) intent :raised_rands:  
> _______________________________________________________________________________
> 
> Commissioned art by [spacerocketbunny](http://spacerocketbunny.tumblr.com).  
> 


	6. From the lights of the evening to the books on your shelf, I've wanted you for so long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is lyrics from Ciaran Lavery’s [Morning Bell](https://youtu.be/lJzwyGAormI).
> 
> This update took SO long because ~~I picked DBH back up & returned to that 20' deep pit from which I cannot escape, so to cope, I've been crying myself to sleep nightly about Luther/Kara/Alice making it to Canada, wishing Markus could romance Simon in-game & replaying that *hug* Conner gets from Hank at the end over & over & — ~~ despite trying to build a solid, coherent plot, my characters (side eyes Varric & Ev) keep doing whatever the F they want to... So, due to that & the nature of this fic/universe, some main quest lines will be shuffled around or skipped over entirely while other minor events will be given extreme importance.
> 
> There are more references to domestic abuse in this chapter... O & smut... there be smut in this here chapter too.

When Cullen looked back, it was as if his life was fractured; disparate timelines strung together. It was a funny thing, how it ebbed and flowed. The beginning where youth, innocence, and dreams of something more thrived seemed to pass in the blink of an eye. And then time froze, a second of suffering stretching indefinitely. When it finally decided to start back up again… well, nothing was the same.

His relationships, his memories, it was all demon-touched. He was demon-touched. Only the coin Branson gave him came out untarnished. A relic of what was, and who he should have been. Having it back, Cullen still wasn’t sure if it made everything better or worse, but at the moment, it was the only thing tethering the pieces together. 

“Rutherford,” Eirlys greeted. There was a glimmer of recognition in her icy-blue gaze. But beyond that, nothing. 

Cullen couldn’t fault her for that. After Kinloch, his mind had been his worst enemy. Everything kept bleeding together. There would be a rush of images. Reliving the worst of it. Glimpses of the present that would suddenly morph into horrors. Cullen hadn’t been able to discern what was real and what was not and what it meant that he couldn’t tell the difference anymore and he _blamed_ them for it. Continued to blame them until he figured out how to truly escape that place. Sever that chunk of time from the rest and put it in a little glass bauble. Bury it down _deep_ alongside the apology he owed Alistair and Eirlys in an attempt to do as they wished and slog forward somehow. 

Unfortunately, without his coin — that piece of a different person to remind him — like sand the tighter he had tried to hold onto who he was, the quicker it all had slipped through his fingers. So Cullen had let it go. Wiped his hands clean. Took the second path the Order had offered him. Too bad it turned out Major General Stannard ended up being considerably more unstable than he had ever been, even at his worst.

Perhaps if they had waited, had given him more time to recover in Greenfell Hospital before visiting, things might have played out differently. But they didn’t… 

“Eirlys,” Cullen returned just because he didn’t know whether to address her as Amell or Theirin.

“I’m a little surprised to see you here, but I suppose that doesn’t matter. I trust you’re settling in alright?”

“I am,” he said, glancing past her to where Evelyn was descending the nearby staircase. Took note of the slight narrowing of her dark eyes. 

“I understand they gave you a seat at the table,” Eirlys said.

Cullen wanted to look askance. Shift his weight. Anything to purge the welling discomfort, but he didn’t allow any of that. Slipping into the Commander persona almost defensively, he only tipped his chin.

“They did.”

“That was fast.”

“Perhaps,” Cullen agreed, trying to shake the feeling Eirlys suspected he would poison the Resistance from the inside-out with his presence alone. “But given the state of things I’m not certain it matters.” 

“It doesn’t. I am simply making an observation.” She took a step back. The nearby light fixture shone on her hair, turning it into molten silver. Eirlys looked at Evelyn as she reached the bottom of the stairs; gaze lingering on the files cradled in her arm.

Evelyn gave her a perfunctory smile. “They’re waiting for you.”

“I had not forgotten,” Eirlys said, pausing to give her a long impassive look before departing.

And it was a relief. The tension Cullen had been carrying slowly began to unwind. Leaving him sore and weary. Exhausted. It was very tempting to go sink into his comfortable bed and take advantage of the rarity. At the same time, however, he’d been looking for Evelyn.

Over the last couple of weeks, Cullen had come to terms with the fact he quite enjoyed Evelyn’s company; liked her dry humor, her pragmatism and her willingness to merely share silence with him. She was so easy to be around, and he’d caught himself seeking out her presence a time or two, even if he didn’t quite know what to do with it once he had it.

“I apologize if she said anything off color. It’s not you that she has an issue with,” Evelyn said quietly. 

“My place here will only make any problems between you two worse. We have a complicated history, made more so by a youthful infatuation on my part.” Cullen was surprised to hear himself bring it up but more surprised to see something in Evelyn’s expression fall. 

“I see,” Evelyn hummed. Her gaze had drifted away, and Cullen wanted it back. 

“I was looking for you,” he admitted, lightly touching the back of her arm. If the cold ever bothered Evelyn, she never showed it.

Her brow furrowed, eyes flicking up to meet his. 

“I might have something.” The confusion cleared from her face, and just before responsibility dropped down between them like a wall, he thought he saw a hint of disappointment in her expression. 

“I might as well,” she said, shifting her weight away. It was appalling how much Cullen regretted that. “Your office?”

“If you don’t mind,” he answered, accepting one of the two files from her.

“Not at all.”

Side by side they walked straight to his office. Once inside, she plopped down in her usual chair, the leftmost of the two before his desk, and set the remaining file in her possession on the floor. Cullen handed over her copy of the report he put together exhausting every source and lead on his last New Haven case for her to peruse while Cullen cleaned off space for her. As she read, a small frown appeared on her brow. 

Three years ago, Maliphant was dismissed with disgrace from the Orlesian Imperial Army for regularly beating the shit out of his new wife. Being half his age and having no one to fall back upon, she willingly accompanied him to Ferelden for a fresh start. There, things improved drastically for the newlyweds. Maliphant enjoyed reasonable success as a merchant thanks to his Orlesian contacts and became a well-respected pillar of the community in New Haven. Unfortunately, the turnaround wasn’t meant to last.

Unexplained late nights and returning to his abusive ways left the young woman feeling betrayed. Regrettably, Cullen ascertained Maliphant’s damning behavior was fueled by something much more sinister than simply sticking his dick where it didn’t belong. Drowning in secret gambling debts, he had turned to a former superior named Auguste, who now resided in Redcliffe, for help. At the time, Maliphant had been too grateful to question the arrangement, but recently discovered he'd been transporting Red much to his dismay. Cornered and saddled with something Maliphant had no way out of, he began drinking heavily and taking his frustrations out of his wife.

“It's a little convenient both of these men are ex-Orlesian soldiers,” Evelyn said, flipping through a few pages to look at the included photos. 

Finished with tidying his desk, Cullen sat down. “Not exceptionally. Soldiers tend to stick together. I was more interested in the possibility Redcliffe is the distribution hub.”

Chewing on her bottom lip, Evelyn fingered a page before shutting the file and setting it on the desk. Cullen caught a glimpse of the police photograph from the newspaper showing the wife, Belle, battered and bruised in the hospital for bringing scrutiny upon them. The public story was a vicious thug beat and robbed her which was more than plausible. Some people were starving, desperate. Either way, it was a far lesser punishment than the Red Templars would have given her.

Evelyn nodded, smiled a little. “Do you remember Varric’s brother Bartrand?”

“Of course I do.” Cullen frowned, confused by the unrelated tangent. 

“He passed away almost two months ago now.” There was a pause that seemed to say  _ finally.  _ “Of course, Varric went by the sanitarium to give him a proper burial and collect his things which ended up being hundreds of notebooks full of ramblings. Cryptic nonsense.” Her marked hand came up and touched the side of her head. “Insanity, he thought. Still, he packed it all up and brought it back here, because… well, you know Varric.”

From what Cullen recalled the expedition got separated by a freak cave in. It took Varric and the Hawke trio weeks to find a way topside only to learn the others hadn’t resurfaced. The search and rescue team came up empty-handed, but nearly seventy miles away, some miners from Orzammar searching for untapped lyrium veins stumbled upon Bartrand and two other of the lost twenty men, half-starved and completely crazed. At least a decade later they knew with certainty what degraded the survivors’ minds beyond repair. Dwarves may be resistant to lyrium, but Red was an entirely different beast. How they ended up so far away and what happened, however, remained a mystery. 

“It wasn’t his fault,” Cullen said. 

“Survivors guilt,” Evelyn shrugged. “I think we all suffer from it.” 

Leaning back in the chair, Cullen scratched his stubbled jaw. Feeling slightly called out and understood at the same time. “Be that as it may, I’m not sure how any of this is relevant.”

“Patience really isn’t your thing, is it?” With that, Evelyn stood and walked to the small table by the balcony door where a crystal decanter and several glasses rested. Outside, the perfect day was sliding into dusk. 

Cullen chuckled. “You’ve noticed?”

That prompted a smirk from her. “Among other things. Would you like one?” she asked, pouring herself some whiskey.

“Please.”

A soft chime sounded as Evelyn returned the stopper to the decanter. Holding the second glass by the rim at her side, she took a drink. The nearby light refracted through the cross-hatch crystal. A myriad of dark molten hues lit up. It pleased him aesthetically, reminded him of her brunette waves in direct sunlight. 

When Evelyn moved to rejoin him, Cullen reached for a cigarette and flushed with embarrassment at having been caught watching her so intently. 

“I promise it’s relevant in the end,” Evelyn said, handing him his drink. Their fingers brushed together, and the hint of color high on her cheeks darkened.

“I’m listening,” he said and brought the cupped lighter up. The cigarette replaced the lighter in his hand, and he took long drags absently. Again and again, his amber gaze dropped to her mouth as Evelyn talked, distracted by the crack in her lip from chewing on it so often.

“Turns out, Bartrand wasn’t completely gone. These mazes he kept sketching were all interconnected, just focused in on one specific area or scaled back to capture as much of this labyrinth as possible. Looking for similarly sized drawings, Varric and Dorian managed to piece a bunch of it together in the cellar. You should see it, it’s absolutely insane how huge it is,” she said with an enthusiastic gesture; her proclivity toward research and discovery flaring up. “Anyway, eventually Varric realized it was an abstract map of the Deep Roads and its surrounding caverns, but before I continue on, I feel like we should put on some tinfoil hats.”

Cullen didn’t quite snort, but it was a close thing. A small smile played at the corner of her perfectly formed mouth as Evelyn looked him over, almost expectantly.

Blowing smoke off to the side, Cullen shook his head. “Not going to happen.”

“Shh, I’m imagining it.”

And then so did he, causing him to laugh suddenly and with real mirth. A deep, rich sound Cullen still wasn’t sure belonged to him. 

“It looked better on you than it did me,” Evelyn said, and her smile widened a fraction when his fit of laughter began anew. 

“Maker, please shut up,” he managed.

Evelyn chuckled. “Does that mean you want me to cut to the chase?”

“Not at all.” Shaking his head, Cullen stabbed out his cigarette, because choking on the smoke was a real risk around Evelyn. His cheeks were burning for multiple reasons, and he took a quick drink to mask the warmth blooming in his chest. It was ridiculous how easily that sensation cropped up around her. 

After taking a drink herself, Evelyn continued. “Varric was convinced the center of this puzzle represented where whatever happened to Bartrand happened, so he contacted an old friend of his who has explored the Deep Roads extensively. Bianca—“

Cullen looked up, startled. “Wait. Bianca is a real person?” He had been in the process of opening the file Evelyn had given him, and it fell open with a  _ thwap.  _ A loose sheet of paper blew off the desk. Evelyn set her glass down and leaned over to retrieve it.

“His rifle is named after her, but she came and went long before Bethany,” she said, setting the paper back onto his desk. Evelyn seemed hesitant to continue. It was as though a dark cloud passed over her face. “Turns out, this Bianca had been visiting Bartrand off and on over the years for whatever reason and came to the same conclusion. Around the time I found myself neck deep in the Venatori, she decided to try to find this place and succeeded. Varric glossed over most of this bit, but my understanding is she came across an ancient thaig, structurally unlike anything ever seen before. Apparently, it had  _ veins  _ of Red all over the place, and she even found some of Bartrand’s missing men encased in it.” Frowning, Evelyn paused to take a long pull from her whiskey, nearly emptying it.

“Whatever her motives were, in the end, Bianca says she tried to do the right thing by enlisting the Legion of the Dead to help seal off the thaig. And then she turned over her Red sample to the Order along with a detailed report on her findings.”

When Evelyn paused to take a drink, the silence was deafening for its brevity. Cullen was terribly ashamed and wished Stannard had been tricked through lies and deception instead of having the key to the Order’s destruction handed over on a silver platter. He could understand her fear, void, he felt that fear himself when the mages rose to power in Tevinter like the old days, but what Stannard did… he couldn’t wrap his mind around _ why.  _

In the beginning, the gradual decline in the mage population looked like a response to the tense atmosphere. With what was happening in Tevinter, Fereldans were frightened and shied away from them out of suspicion. Mages suffered discrimination and economic hardship as a result. Add the Crown sanctioned checks into the mix and it made perfect sense for the mages to withdraw their phylactery from Ferelden's Vault and leave the country. Unfortunately, unbeknownst to Cullen, Templars were using violence to encourage this, and more often than not, decided to Purge them.

After all this time, Cullen was  _ still _ trying to parse through whether Stannard believed Cullen would choose the Red and continue to blindly follow as he had for years or if he had served his purpose and that bullet had his name on it the second she loaded it into the chamber. Sometimes he acknowledged it wasn’t important because the Order lost sight of their purpose long before Red warped the outside into a perfect reflection of the rot inside. 

“There are several things I’d like to do with all this information,” Evelyn continued, oblivious. “Starting with ensuring there isn’t anything else Bianca handed over, but I want us to agree on everything before approaching the team.”

Closing the file before him, he folded his arms over it. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but you’ve managed this long—”

“Cullen,” she interrupted. 

His heart stumbled. Irrationally so, and he could do nothing but return his eyes to Evelyn at her call.  _ You’re not the one at fault here. Never were.  _ She didn’t say it, he knew she never would, but with the way Evelyn was looking at him, she could be trying to impart nothing else. 

“I’m not trying to do anything. Don’t be thick.”

Cullen gave her a withering look. “I am not an idiot,” he said coldly. “So I would appreciate it if you’d stop suggesting otherwise, but I am glad, Evelyn, that none of this gets to you anymore. Unfortunately, I’m not at peace with the role I played in it all going to shit like you are.”

She didn’t flinch, not precisely, but her entire posture tensed. For a moment, they stared at one another, but as the seconds passed and Evelyn’s stunned expression didn’t shift, Cullen had to look away. Disgust clawed its way into his chest. He needed to make this right, but he couldn’t focus on figuring out how with the expectation  _ she _ wanted him to suffocating him. 

“I guess we’ll just discuss it in Council,” she said, exchanging the glass for the file on the corner of his desk. “Thanks for the drink.”

With a muttered curse, Cullen scrubbed his hands down his face. “Just— wait,” he snapped, because of course, he would, as her heels moved across the room.

With her hand on the balcony door, she paused. “It’s fine. I get it. I just dropped that on you and expected… I don’t know what I expected,” she said, frowning. “But I apologize for how it came off. Oh, I forgot my other file.”

Knowing Evelyn would leave the second she had it in hand Cullen stood to  _ stop _ her. 

“Look— Evelyn…  _ Wait,”  _ he insisted, grabbing her upper arm and preventing her from getting much further when she ignored him. Cullen fully expected her to jerk her arm away. Deny him the opportunity to speak. But she never did what he expected. 

Evelyn turned to fully face him; the arm in his grip lax, the other cradled the files. Her posture not quite stiff, but close enough he knew releasing her would be the wise thing to do. Then apologize for putting his hands on her. But she was so  _ close,  _ and against all reason, seemed content to stay that way.

“I said I was sorry; what else do you want from me?” Her tone was firm, and yet defeated like she had nothing left to offer, but she was  _ wrong.  _

“I want…” He shifted his weight towards her, staring. His fingers itched. 

Silence then, except for the sound of their breathing. He had no idea what Evelyn was thinking, but Cullen knew one thing with certainty — he wanted her. Had wanted her since first laying eyes upon her if he were to be entirely honest with himself. And the way Evelyn tilted her chin up, almost in challenge, was a curiosity that made him wonder if she felt the same way. When sleep evaded her, did she also wonder what it would be like? How would he taste? Feel? 

It was tentative at first. Not because Cullen didn’t want to touch her, but because he was paying very close attention to how Evelyn responded, as he always did. Before this moment, he hadn't noticed just how much time he spent watching her. Tucking her hair behind her ear, he traced the shell of her ear. Trailed his fingertips along the curve of her jaw. Evelyn didn’t do anything remarkable except relax her posture some. 

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured. His heart was pounding so hard it was almost unbearable. 

_ This  _ was unbearable.

“I don’t want you to.” 

And so he didn’t. 

Evelyn’s lips were soft against his. The kiss started slow and stayed that way until she opened her mouth. Cullen had no interest in selfishly taking from her, but it was invitation he couldn’t refuse. There was a faint taste of something citrusy underneath the whiskey when he ran his tongue alongside hers. She sighed into the kiss, and Cullen liked the way it sounded just a little bit more than he liked the sound of the files hitting the floor so she could put her hands on him.  

If the heat and slide of her tongue made his knees unsteady, Evelyn’s fingers fisting in the fabric of his shirt, twisting and pulling him closer was almost too much. Cullen was aware he was half-hard, and part of him wanted to shift away before she noticed, but the other part wanted to stay like this. Hoped it was why she pulled him closer in the first place. 

His grip had tightened on her arm to the point where Cullen worried he was hurting her, so he let go. Allowed his hand to hover over her hip for a half-second until Evelyn slid her fingers through his hair against the grain and tugged at his tie. With a low sound of approval, he grasped the flare of her hip, warring with his desire to be respectful and drag her against him to soak her in. But then she undid the topmost button of his shirt to sneak her hand underneath, and any semblance of self-control left to him vanished.

Reaching down, he bunched up her skirt and lifted her in one fluid motion. Evelyn broke away from the kiss that took everything up with a little squeak of surprise. Distantly, he acknowledged how adorable he found that, but the feel of her legs wrapping around him drowned out everything else.

Despite the urgent desire, Cullen searched her face. Looking for some sign he overstepped. He found none. Instead, Evelyn nodded before capturing his lips, pulling him close with a hand on the back of his neck. She kissed him harder, but not forceful, and it felt natural to tangle his fingers in her hair to slant his mouth over hers. 

Cullen kicked a chair out of the way, and holding her aloft with one arm, shoved all of the hastily organized shit from his desk. Cupping his jaw, Evelyn smiled into the kiss as paper fluttered and files smacked into the floor. Reactively, his lip twitched, a smirk tugging at the scar there. It was strange, not something he expected in such a situation. 

Once placed on the desk, Evelyn leaned back leaving a bit more room between them then he would have liked. Until she smoothed her palms down the length of his chest. At his waistband, she undid a button, then the one just above it before untucking his shirt. Cullen gladly took the hint, removing his tie and taking care of the cuffs while she made quick work of the remaining buttons. Both articles of clothing were carelessly dropped onto the floor.

Somehow Cullen managed to keep control of his reflexes at the pleasurable feel of her against his bare skin. She was so warm. So unlike his own hands. Making it that much easier to enjoy her touch despite the cruel whispers in the back of his mind that Cullen wished he could silence forever. 

Taking her shirt off, on the other hand, was harder than he thought it would be. He was a former soldier, an ex-Templar, it was nothing to bare his scars. Evelyn bore the ones visible easily enough, but as a researcher, she should have been spared the necessity to do so in the first place. What little more he noticed paled in comparison to the massive scarring on her left arm, but none of it took anything from her. It couldn’t. 

Evelyn met his quiet appraisal the same way she did everything, head on. It wasn’t in her nature to do anything else, even as she reached behind her to unhook her bra. Before she got it entirely off, Cullen descended upon her. 

He kissed his way down her neck, lingering over the pulse point just above her collarbone where he could feel her heart  _ going.  _ Dragging his tongue over it, he cupped her full breast wondering if his hands were too cold? His stubble too rough? There were a million things Cullen wanted to know, but her sudden moan of approval into his hair gave him all the answer he needed. Bracing herself she arched into his touch, encouraging him to excite her. 

He obliged, mouthing the soft, rosy peak; enjoying the feel of it pebbling beneath his tongue. Evelyn was everything he had imagined. Unashamed of her soft curves. Responsive.  _ Eager.  _ Spreading wide for him with a pleading noise when his hand slipped between her thighs. Cullen couldn’t remember if he had ever felt wanted like this.  _ Needed. _

“Maker’s breath,” he muttered against her smooth skin as he parted her lips with his fingers. The wet, heat of her was unfathomable. His cock throbbed almost painfully when he dipped two calloused fingers inside her. 

None too gently, Evelyn fisted her hands in his hair to drag his mouth to hers. The throaty sound Evelyn let out made him want to greedily coax more from her. Cullen began to twist his wrist as he moved his fingers inside her, devouring each delectable noise she let out. He wanted to hear them all; taste her, feel her velvet walls tighten around his cock.

“Please,” Evelyn gasped as if reading his thoughts. “Cullen, I want you.”

Cullen was enjoying himself but was also just as impatient for more. He was harder than ever. Leaking precome. Could feel the dampness of it on his boxers. Withdrawing his fingers, he licked back into her mouth, just because he could, as he unzipped her skirt. Evelyn kicked off her shoes and lifted her hips to allow him to remove the remainder of her clothes. They joined his shirt and tie on the floor. 

Without hesitation, she unbuckled his belt; unbuttoned and unzipped his slacks. Looking up at him, Evelyn pulled his cock out. The word  _ suck  _ bounced around in his thoughts when her lips slightly parted, but all coherent thought flew out the window when she swirled her marked hand over the weeping head of his cock and began to stroke him. Showing him what it was exactly that she could do with her hands. 

Each stroke was intentional. Slow. Moved the entire length of him. It was unlike anything he’d ever experienced before. His breathing was less in control than he would have liked, and Evelyn watched his reactions so intently heat crept up the back of his neck. Undeterred, Cullen shoved his pants down and leaned over her; bracing himself against the desk, his other hand brought her leg up to position her foot on the edge. Shifting to accommodate his actions, she braced herself with the opposite arm, only briefly releasing him to adjust her hold.

“I want you too,” he said; voice low with an intensity to it that made him seem insistent. 

Nodding, Evelyn positioned him, parting herself with the head of his cock. Gripping his bicep once her hand was free, her lips parted in a silent cry as he slowly slid inside her. Cullen stilled once he found himself to the hilt; relishing in the feel of her fluttering around him, adjusting to the way he filled her so completely. 

After a couple of shallow, experimental thrusts, Cullen dug his fingers into her hips to angle her to his advantage. It forced her to lean farther back, prop herself up on a forearm. Her elbow bumped his half-empty glass and sent it sailing to the floor. The sound of it shattering was overlapped with a sharp moan from her as he rolled his hips into her. 

Cullen groaned heavily into her neck; their entire bodies moving together with each lengthy, drawn-out stroke. Tension was already building at the base of his spine, a coiling burn of pleasure. His every nerve felt like it was on fire. He was sweating. Even his fingers tingled from the unfamiliar warmth. 

Time seemed to blur then. It was welcome since Cullen never wanted this to end; especially since he couldn’t quite wrap his head around the fact that it was happening in the first place. But then she whispered his name. 

Just once. 

And reality slammed back into him. 

Her legs were tight around his hips; her breasts brushed his skin. Their panting breaths seemed in time with the desperate hitch of his hips. The smell of ozone was thick in the air. Cullen uprooted his face from where it was buried in the crook of her neck to drink her in and found it was possibly the worst thing he could have done. 

Her olive skin was flushed, and Evelyn held his gaze with clear eyes, void of the usual walls he found there. He shuddered; rhythm faltering at feeling something that shouldn’t be there. 

“Ev, I—“ 

Her nails scratched down his scalp, and the was no stopping the groan that rent from his chest. 

“Don’t stop.” Evelyn leaned up a fraction; brushed her lips over his. “Please, don’t. I’ll take care of it.”

Cullen didn’t think he could stop, even if he wanted to. Cupping her cheeks, he nodded before kissing her. The act fueled by passion, though it wasn’t the only thing there. With one arm, Evelyn grasped him like he was going to disappear; urging him deeper by pressing her foot into his backside. He bucked up into her; long, powerful strokes that made her whole body shake. Pressure welled  _ deep,  _ and there was nothing he could do but will it away. 

It was almost a relief when Evelyn’s nails dug into his shoulder and came with a hoarse cry. Her walls rippling and clamping around him with such intensity his pleasure spiked instantly and took him with her. Cullen managed to grind his hips into her to draw out their climax as he took in the sight of her. Emblazon it in his memory because who knew if he’d ever see her like this again. 

Eventually, he all but collapsed on top of her; basically doubled over the desk where he remained for several minutes. Even though Evelyn was half his size, she seemed content to bear a significant portion of his weight as she affectionately carded her fingers through his hair. Mussing it up then smoothing it back into place, unconcerned that it was damp with sweat. Cullen allowed himself the indulgence for far longer than he should have.

Forcing himself to lift off her with an arm that was considerably more shaky than usual, Cullen chased a bead of sweat on her brow with his fingertips; a small smile slipped across her face. He felt his breath catch. Tucking her hair behind her ear, Cullen leaned down for a soft, languid kiss.

Reluctantly, he stood straight and helped her into a sitting position. Cullen tugged up his boxers and pants as she shouldered her bra. 

“Sorry about the glass,” she said, reaching behind her to fasten the hooks. 

He shook his head. “This mess is the last thing I’m worried about,” Cullen frowned, zipping and buttoning his slacks. 

It was apparent now what he felt for Evelyn wasn’t just friendship or simple sympathetic understanding. Cullen had been aware of the fondness he held for her, but he had discovered, just underneath, that all too familiar feeling of infatuation. That intense yearning for what he couldn’t have. At least this time he got a taste, but it was sure to make it that much more difficult in the end.  

“What is it then?” Evelyn slid off the desk and shifted her weight with obvious discomfort. 

Cullen felt a coldness pass through him. This was why he didn’t deserve things like Evelyn. Didn’t deserve even a glimpse of what it could be like. 

“Nothing that concerns you,” he said, scooping up her skirt and underwear. Cullen swore he thought the word  _ liar _ even as she looked at him like he was one. 

Evelyn accepted her clothes from him; their fingers didn’t touch. The seconds stretched as she dressed. It didn’t take long at all for her to step into her panties and skirt, but Cullen felt terrible; didn’t know how to diffuse the tension between them. It was something she always did as much as he hated to admit it. 

“I think everything that happened in this room tonight concerns me,” she finally muttered.

“Ev,” Cullen began, placing his hands on her shoulders as she stepped around him in search of her blouse. Covering most of her right shoulder blade was a large tattoo of a feather from which a flock of tiny birds burst out the side. He wanted to touch it; trace the curved line down the middle of it, so he did. With his other hand, he lightly squeezed her shoulder. 

Her head turned, but her gaze didn’t lift to his. “What do you want from me, Cullen?”

When he didn’t answer, Evelyn exhaled audibly; not with disappointment exactly, but there was something to it he didn’t want to hear. 

So, Cullen let her go this time because it was the right thing to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reference for Evelyn's tattoo can be found [here](https://drive.google.com/file/d/1N-XP87_kiyhjK8DNFmzTmIOHS8cNcI-P/view?usp=sharing).


	7. I’ve been lost all up in my head, lost in the past and what’s next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is lyrics from Birdtalker's [Just This](https://youtu.be/tAtv540fKdc).
> 
> Me: *rereads/edits 5800 words of I don’t even know*  
>   
> *POST*  
>   
> ((transition chapters are HARD))

After several long, perfectly routine days, Cullen still felt out of step with the world around him. To get back on track, he decided a game of chess was in order because when faced with an error or the loss a critical piece, the best players kept their composure; adjusted their strategy without losing focus. Looked forward, not back. 

Shortly before noon as agreed upon, Dorian and he met for a game on the terrace overlooking the garden. The sky was clear; the air fresh and fragrant with soil and flowers. Sloping mountains rose up in the distance. There was an occasional rustle of greenery as Bull meandered around the garden to check the day’s yield. The continuous up-and-down must be rough on his bad knee but Cullen had learned early on the chore was Bull’s way to compensate for the disconnect he felt within Skyhold’s protective sphere.

Work was Cullen’s grounding activity. Always had been. Chess was more for relaxation but had the same effect. It’d been years since he’d had the opportunity and even longer since he’d faced a regular opponent and didn’t have to regularly throw games to guarantee they’d continue to play against him.

In the beginning, Cullen knew it was merely a way for some of the Inner Circle to get to know him. A lot could be determined about someone from how they played chess. An individual's intelligence level, for example, or how they handled pressure. Most valuable was learning how emotions affected their game. They learned, adapted, and so did he.

Dorian rolled up his left shirtsleeve after making the first move, and Cullen paused when his fingers made contact with a barely sun-warmed chess piece. He glanced around the landscape with some confusion. 

“Is it a little cooler than normal?” 

Dorian’s perfectly manicured eyebrows lifted in surprise. “I didn’t think anyone would notice.” 

”Why not?”

“A slight variation in the weather.” His beringed hand waved dismissively. “It’s nothing to take note of.”

“It is here,” Cullen disagreed. 

Dorian slid a piece into position, and the small smile he allowed was self-satisfied; clearly proud of the feat.

“I can’t take all the credit as much as I’d like to. Evelyn and I have been picking apart the magic surrounding this place since we arrived. In Tevinter, preservationists have been around for centuries. Our historical buildings and monuments have a full record of every spell ever set down, or at least their intent so nothing can be permanently lost under all the updates and cancellations, but here, such a thing doesn’t exist. Why would it?” Dorian shrugged. “It’s a fascinating study. The magic in the ground itself is ancient, and the consecutive layers are distinct, but it all feels the same.”

The sudden desperate craving for lyrium — to be able to immerse himself into the world around him with razor-sharp focus — and perceive the details of this anomaly for himself made his stomach churn. Cullen swore he could taste it in the back of his throat, and though the sensation only lasted a few seconds, it was enough to breathe some life into the faint headache he woke up with. Still, Cullen didn’t want it, not really, because then he would feel  _ nothing _ else.

“It’s… odd,” Dorian finished at the same time Cullen said, “Unsettling.”

“That too,” Dorian agreed as troubled frown graced his features. One moment there, gone the next.

“What are you two hoping to accomplish?” Cullen lit a cigarette, pushed the pack over to his opponent and tapped it twice with his middle finger. 

“Nothing. It’s all merely academic. Just something to pass the time.”

“Of course it is,” Cullen said blandly, taking one of Dorian’s pawns. 

The mage looked up from the board, mouth pulling into a bemused half-smile. “You can’t tell me you’ve never taken something apart just to see how it works?” 

“I have, but I know neither of you would have any interest in putting it back together exactly how you found it,” Cullen replied, smirking. 

“And why would we want to do that?” Dorian asked with a hint of laughter in his voice, a little flash and cleverness to mask what he was really saying. “Especially when it can be improved upon?” 

“What improvements are already in place?” 

He lit a cigarette with a small flame held between finger and thumb. “The main defenses,” Dorian finally answered. “It took the better part of our first year here to dismantle what was in place and erect our own. In hindsight, it feels like a waste of time, but we haven’t survived this long by being careless.”

Cullen nodded and absently raked his teeth over the scar on his lip, almost as if to remind himself how inattentive he had once been. 

“I crossed paths with him quite often during my time in the Venatori,” Dorian added abruptly. “The Dread Wolf that is.”

Cullen regarded the information with curiosity since the War Room offered very little. All that existed was a four-page profile on Solas that mostly covered his abilities as a mage and Somniari as well as his history with the Venatori. One page of it, at least, was dedicated to his previous career as a museum conservator and detailed out how the Orb made it into Amladaris’ possession. But other than that, it was as if Solas fell out of thin air. They didn’t even have a birthdate or knew where he received his education.

“What did you make of him?”

“He was somewhat of a walking contradiction,” Dorian remarked thoughtfully. 

“How so?”

“His views on the Dalish for one, but most glaringly Solas always seemed more concerned with what was happening on the other side of the Veil than this one.” 

“It would’ve been nice if he’d at least kept better tabs on the artifacts he sent off for further research.” Cullen moved a piece and then moved it back, pausing to mentally trace back the last several turns. Ultimately, he chose a different path. 

Dorian chuckled. “A lot of this mess probably could’ve been prevented if a few people had been paying attention to anything, and I don’t mean you, you git.”

“I don’t believe I said anything about me,” Cullen replied, scowling.

“You don’t have to.” Dorian turned his head to blow the smoke away from Cullen as he leaned forward to move a knight. “You get this precious look on your face when you’re brooding.”

Sighing, Cullen scrubbed a hand down his face. “Maker, why do I even bother?” he muttered to himself.

“What’s that?” Dorian asked, laughing.

Cullen shook his head automatically, wincing at the way the headache rattled around in his skull. “It’s not possible to look back on everything and think I shouldn’t have noticed.” 

Dorian’s face grew serious. “Ok,” he said decisively. “The path we took, sometimes I’m not sure Evelyn and I prevented anything, just delayed the inevitable. Who knows, maybe we even set it all in motion, but at least we can say we’re still trying to stop it, and you know what? When the opportunity presented itself, you decided to help instead of walking around looking down on us for everything that’s happened.” The glint of gold as Dorian gestured caught Cullen’s eye. 

Everything Dorian did was full of purpose, so it wasn’t a fluke to find his gaze suddenly trained on Eirlys. No one could’ve predicted how central Alistair’s role in all of this would turn out. Eirlys feared for him, Cullen could understand that as well as her anger and frustration with the situation even if he rejected her misplaced blame. Evelyn took it all in stride considering, and he couldn’t help but admire her for that.

Ignoring their game a moment, he watched Alistair tuck a red rose behind Eirlys’ ear. Roses were a pretentious flower. Would Evelyn even like them? 

“She’d like it came from you.”

_ “Cole!”  _ Cullen snapped, swiveling his head the opposite direction to lay eyes on him. He sat off to one side of the bench where Dante had been previously lounging solo. The mabari’s head rested in his lap, and Cole petted the dark gray fur attentively. 

“Sorry, but I heard it so clearly,” Cole said not sounding sorry at all, just matter-of-fact. 

Cullen still wasn’t sure how he felt about the spirit-boy. Alistair had explained what Cole was as best he could that first night in Skyhold, but perhaps sensing his apprehension, Cole didn’t show himself until after Cullen had faced his demons back in New Haven. Even then, he had only observed from a distance; observed and left notes. 

Sometimes he received almost a full page, others times a single word. Either way, Cullen didn’t always initially grasp what the spirit was trying to tell him. It may take a few revisits, but eventually, Cullen realized what Cole left him wasn’t so cryptic after all. Speaking, however, while a very recent development, was something else entirely. It was usually blunt and came out of absolutely nowhere. Cullen may not particularly like it, any of it, but he had come to the conclusion the spirit was neither inherently good nor evil, just determined. As irritating as it was, it did help. Just… not right now.

“It's fine,” Cullen said honestly even as his cheeks flamed hot. “I just— I’d rather my private affairs remain that way.”

“Naturally,“ Dorian said as if he thought nothing of what just transpired and claimed one of Cullen’s towers. “No one will think negatively of you for feeling the way you do.” 

Cole tilted his head, assessing. “What you say is mindful, but it has meaning.”

“Subtle Cole, real subtle,” Dorian said fondly. Cole was silent, but the smile he gave was slight.

Feeling defeated, he shook his head. “Anyway,” Cullen said with a sigh, stabbing the cigarette out on the sole of his shoe. “Are we quite done?”

“Finished already?” Dorian asked, amicably. “I thought you wanted to relax a little?”

“I did,” Cullen said. ”Until I made the catastrophic error of letting my mind wander.” 

Dorian’s smile was impish. His mouth opened to speak, but Bull beat him to it.

“Play nice, Dorian,” he warned, setting a bucket down onto the terrace. Bull must have gotten a pretty decent yield out of the garden based on how heavy it sounded when it hit the flagstone. 

“I always play nice,” Dorian said, and Cullen rolled his eyes. “He just needs to come to terms with my inevitable victory. He’ll feel much better.”

“Really? Because I just won,” Cullen said brightly as he placed his remaining tower into position. “And I feel fine.” Bull laughed, a big booming sound that eclipsed Cullen’s, and he tossed his pink work gloves into the bucket.

Dorian let out a disapproving tsk. “Don’t get smug. There will be no living with you — either of you.”

“But we already live together,” Cole said, frowning. His wide-brimmed hat hiding his eyes. “It should feel like home, but it doesn’t. We keep leaving, searching, seeking, sad because home is gone.” 

Dante sighed heavily, and Cole resumed his petting. 

“Kid,” Bull said soothingly. “We’re doing what we can.” 

“The winds are shifting, The Iron Bull,” he said, head lifting. His eyes were cold, milky blue or grey, and empty. At that moment, Cole really did look like a reanimated corpse. Cullen felt a chill run through him, and it had nothing to do with the sudden breeze that swept over the five of them. “But the plants will die without the magic holding back the sky.” 

“They’ll come back in the spring,” Dorian assured slowly, cautiously, as if he wasn’t quite sure what this conversation was actually about. There was something very unsettling about it.

His eyes cleared, burned blue. “Plants come back, but not people,” Cole said, looking lost. 

“We’ll try not to die,” Bull said. The easy words and smile should have been convincing, but unsurprisingly, to Cole it wasn’t.

“It’s more complicated than that, but you’re trying to help. Thank you, The Iron Bull.” 

“No problem, kid,” Bull said, grinning. “Come help me make dinner, you need to work on that eating thing anyway.”

“Blech,” he said, wrinkling his nose. “But I will help because—”

“Shhh! Don’t ruin the surprise,” Bull laughed, and Dorian squinted at him expectantly for a very long time. When he only received a ridiculous one-eyed wink in answer, Dorian made an affronted sound.

“Another game?”

“Sure,” Cullen shrugged and watched as Dorian began to reset the chessboard. 

“I know how you feel about surprises, Kadan,” he said, stepping close to Dorian. “But trust me, you’ll like this one.” Bull then ran his fingers through his hair against the grain. Cullen expected Dorian to snap at Bull, demand that he fix the mess he made of it, but the mage only smiled, pleased with the touch. 

A pang of regret then as Cullen thought back on the similar attention Evelyn had paid him, and how he had let her leave thinking it all meant nothing — a punishment intended only for him but felt by both. With a start, Cullen realized Cole was staring at him. He looked right back, and both their jaws twitched as they bit back whatever they each wanted to say.

“What about you Dante? You coming?” Bull asked, oblivious to this silent battle of wills, as he stooped down to collect the bucket.

“Yes,” answered Cole quickly as if he  _ needed _ to say something. “Smells of sun-dried spices, roasted meat, and fire. Find a quiet place where the sun shines in. Light is bad for beans, but not this one.”

Sitting up, Dante leveled Cole with a  _ look _ that was hilarious and Cullen wanted to laugh, but he thought better of it as the strangest feeling came over him. He was used to his self-inflicted seclusion, answering wry smiles and witty asides with silence or a dour expression, but these people were changing that. Someone had been taken from each of them, whether it was a friend, family member or lover, but Cullen had merely given up on all of those things long ago. Perhaps that was why he felt more at home than he had in years, and they didn’t. 

Cullen knew Cole sensed this odd desolation wash over him because he looked back over his shoulder as he entered the manor. For the first time, Cullen thought the spirit looked solid and real, void of the stillness that normally surrounded him. It was his imploring expression and the slight tapping of his hand against his thigh that did it.  _ There are too many people hurting and harming _ — Cole had once written him, and Cullen was just one more, making something worse for someone else. 

Sharing some pensive sadness, Cullen and Dorian played silently for the second game, but midway through the third, conversation picked up here and there. Mostly they talked about books. Books were timeless and it was a small comfort to know some things never changed. 

_______________________________________________________________________________

As the day faded away and the quieter hours began to take over, Cullen felt suspended somewhere in between. He knew why this kept happening even if he hadn’t been quite ready to acknowledge it until now.

Not having read a single word in Maker knew how long, he slipped Cole’s most recent note into the book Dorian had lent him to mark his place and gave up. The setting sun shone through a gap in the curtains onto the decanter, a splash of gold and amber. Two glasses remained out of the three. Abandoning his desk, Cullen poured himself two fingers. 

The crystal chimed when he returned the stopper. He took a drink, trying to put some warmth back into the memory. It didn’t work. If anything, it seemed colder, distant, like a dream shrouded in mist. 

Someone knocked on his door, twice in rapid succession, then it opened. 

Cullen looked up from the cigarette he was lighting to see Evelyn standing in the doorway. He still had a vague headache, and it hurt when he looked at her.

“Hey, you. I heard you were looking for me earlier.” 

Cullen nodded as he took a deep drag. 

“Still need me for anything?” The way she phrased the question made his heart beat a little faster. 

Shaking his head, he exhaled a plume of smoke. “I didn’t know you had left, I was going to see if you were up for a game of chess.” 

Cullen hoped the projected indifference made it look like he wasn’t desperate for an opportunity to correct things. On the surface, everything appeared normal between them, but there were minute changes that continuously reminded him things were off. Like how Evelyn remained at the threshold, for instance, instead of coming in and making herself at home as she used to. It was well deserved, but that didn’t mean Cullen had to like or accept it. 

She leaned against the door frame and folded her arms. “Well, I’m available now, unless you already had your fill with someone else.”

“Dorian cheats,” he said simply.

One corner of her mouth curved up. “Surely you don’t expect the enemy to play by your rules, Commander.” 

He huffed a laugh; smiled a little, but his cheeks burned at the title. Evelyn didn’t say it often, but when she did, it was delivered with sincerity as if she believed Cullen still worthy of it. That warmth he had been attempting to grab hold of earlier was back, and he didn’t want to let it go again. 

With one hand in his pocket, Cullen swirled the whiskey around in his glass. “I don’t, but he didn’t provide much of a challenge.”

“And you think I will?” Evelyn asked, arching a brow. It was a joke, Cullen could tell, but she was a puzzle he still hadn’t solved. 

“You always do,” he admitted. Her cheeks started to flush, and Cullen realized, in some strange way, this conversation was almost intimate. 

“Shall we then?” 

By way of answer, Cullen set the unfinished drink onto his desk and removed the distance maintained between them. When she looked up at him, her evergreen eyes were alert and curious.

She leaned forward a little. “Aren’t you going to ask me where I was?” 

“Honestly, I’m just glad you weren’t taking Eirlys’ place in the Deep Roads expedition.” 

“Fuck that,” Evelyn said, succinctly, and stepped out of the doorway. 

Cullen couldn’t help but smile. “Tell me how you really feel,” he said, flipping off the lights and pulling the red oak door mostly shut behind them. 

“I’ve had enough close calls with Red, I have no desire to see its birthplace. Can you imagine how terrible it would sound?” 

“I’d rather not,” Cullen mumbled, but then did anyway. The promise, the  _ pull _ would be unrelenting. It’d hum in his very bones. Suddenly, he felt nauseous.

“I’m sorry,” she offered in an undertone. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

Cullen cleared the bile from his throat, then swallowed. “No, it’s fine. It wouldn’t be much easier for you. I meant it when I said I was glad you weren’t going.”

Side by side, they made their way down the grand staircase. His gaze kept gravitating to the thoughtful frown on her face. If he could only bring himself to touch her again, perhaps she’d look directly at him, and he’d be able to decipher what was causing it.

“But you don’t care if Eirlys does?” Evelyn asked into the silence that had been stretching between them.

His brows drew down. “I care about how Alistair is handling her decision, but it isn’t my place to worry over his wife.”

Evelyn nodded to herself. “Just so you know, I don’t think ill of her. She just believes a war isn’t a war until both sides bleed, but you’ve faced them before,” she said, eyes briefly meeting his before drifting to the scar bisecting his lip. “The ones they use to keep order, they don’t  _ feel _ anything, and if you cut one down, three more replace it. They’re like a Hydra. It’s pointless. All it accomplishes is making everything worse for the people that live in the area.”

“You don’t need to explain yourself to me, Ev,” he said, smirking. The rambling, it was a tell, and while he had no clue what had caused her discomfort, Cullen was happy to try and diffuse it. “You and I are on the same page in this, so let her look,” he shrugged. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Oh, I don’t know, she could stumble upon a Broodmother, Maker forbid. Maybe end up with red lyrium sickness. Perhaps, even die?” Evelyn listed with a wry smile.

“Point taken,” he chuckled, opening the door to usher Evelyn onto the terrace. 

The lamps surrounding the terrace gleamed prettily in the manor’s tall shadow. Stars were beginning to fill the sky. Cullen had thought Evelyn’s oversized, flax-colored sweater was a little much for the slight decrease in temperature, but it was now noticeably chilly outside.

Evelyn kneeled down by the fire pit, and within moments, a fire blazed bright. It smelled good and was pleasantly warm. For good measure, Cullen added a couple more logs so they wouldn’t have to worry about it later. 

“Thanks,” she said, dusting her hands off on her leggings.

“It’s the least I can do.” 

Smiling a little, Evelyn turned away and took a seat at the chessboard. It was commonly theorized making the first move gave a player some inherent advantage. Cullen disagreed, and apparently, so did she. 

“So what were you up to today?” He asked, joining her. “Leliana didn’t offer anything up, but she seemed displeased with you.” By rote, Cullen moved the same piece he always did when he had to play white. He considered it as a moot turn anyway.

“I told you I wanted to talk to Bianca,” she said, brushing her hair forward over one shoulder. Her eyes were downcast, trained on the chessboard to take her turn, but it seemed coincidental. It was the first time they had touched close to what had happened between them. 

His heart pounded as the memory flooded his mind, unbidden; Cullen could actually feel his face go hot as he rubbed the whiskers coating his jaw.

“Learn anything?”

“That she’s a bitch.”

Cullen chuckled. 

There was a glint in her eyes now. “I mean, congrats to her for being the first Surfacer to ever be considered for paragon status, but she didn’t tell me anything I didn’t already know about lyrium,” Evelyn said as she braided her hair into a thick rope. “She wouldn’t shut up, and then she threatened to cut my eyes out if I got Varric killed.”

“She knows who you are?”

Evelyn frowned. “Varric told her way more than I would have liked, so we’ll just have to trust his judgment on this. Even if I don’t trust her.” 

Cullen leaned back, tossed the stub of his cigarette into the fire pit. “No wonder Leliana was unhappy.” 

At length, Evelyn set a piece into position. “No, she was mad because Varric arranged for us to meet up just outside of Orzammar.” 

It was a risk Evelyn should not have taken. The area would have a dense population of not only Red Templars but Venatori. Before he could say anything, however, she held up her marked hand. 

“They care about Orzammar, not the surrounding surface towns and Blackwall is an ex-Warden, he knows what to keep an eye out for. It’s fine.”

“Still, I’m liable to side with Leliana, who’s also an ex-Warden, on this.” 

Evelyn shrugged. “We’re not going to agree on everything, like you going to Redcliffe.” 

“That’s different.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

Cullen rolled his eyes. “New Haven did what we needed it to, and the odds of me crossing paths with an officer that would recognize me on sight are slim to none.” 

“I’m more worried about this Auguste actually being a distribution point than you being found out.”

To be honest, he’d thought on that himself, so it was a fair point but, “It’s nothing to worry about,” he said. “I’m not going to suddenly decide to shoot up a vial of Red.”

“Don’t be—“ She made a face and paused to deftly claim one of his pieces. What he thought was a simple error on her end a couple of turns ago, turned out, was intentional. “That’s not what I mean, and you know it,” she corrected with a touch of diplomacy more befitting of Josephine than the woman before him. 

He tried to ignore it. 

Couldn’t. 

“The team can handle the operation on their own,” Evelyn continued professionally. “They’re more than capable.”

Cullen sighed. “Like you said, we’re not going to agree on everything.”

“Stubborn,” she said, and one corner of her mouth ticked up. 

He shook his head, a mixture of mirth and exasperation. “Reckless.”

“I should have known you were lying when you said I wasn’t.”

That drew a laugh from him, and her expression turned into one of genuine amusement. And once again, things felt right. Cullen thought that maybe Evelyn was just as determined to return things to normal, and he allowed himself the indulgence of pretending that meant something. 

Just for a second.

A breeze rose up, ruffled his hair, and the flames wavered. Evelyn collected the few loose strands fluttering before her face, tucked them behind her ear.

“I wasn’t lying,” he said, sacrificing a pawn before unrolling his shirtsleeves. Night had fallen and with it the temperature. “There’s just no talking you out of anything once you’ve set your mind to it.”

“I think that’s the definition of stubborn.” 

“Shut up,” he said, suppressing a smile. 

“Oh, Cullen,” Evelyn singsonged, moving a tower into the trap he had laid, though it wasn’t the piece he had intended for. “I would if I thought you meant it.” 

He just gave her a pointed look, which she quickly returned before their expressions dissolved into grins simultaneously.

“You’re impossible.”

“It’s my default state, surely you knew that if you sought me out for a challenge,” she replied.

Guilty as charged, his cheeks burned, even as he laughed. “Speaking of challenges, is that why you and Dorian are messing with the weather?” It wasn’t very good as far as segues go, but he was practically buzzing with warmth, and it reminded him too closely of what he shouldn’t covet.

“Not entirely,” she said, not seeming inclined to elaborate. “Does it bother you?”

“I’m Fereldan,” he said dryly. “What do you think?”

“I think I shouldn’t assume to know what you like.”

Cullen stared at the slight tremor in his hands. The idea that she had deliberately phrased her response like that made him feel trapped in his own skin. If he were only someone else, things might have played out much differently. 

“You haven’t complained at all given the lack of air conditioning here,” Evelyn added, moving her queen out of harm’s way with a shrug.

“Neither have you.”

“I’m more of the ‘grin and bear it’ mentality.” A sardonic half-smile. “But I will admit I am tired of this place feeling so otherworldly; plus, I promised Varric I’d help celebrate Satinalia properly this year for Cole.”

“Seems like an unnecessary distraction.” 

“Distractions are what get us by,” she told him. “I believe we’re enjoying one right now.” 

“We are… aren’t we?”

Her brow raised and her mouth curved up, and Cullen felt like he had wronged her all over again. 

He spun the tower he had claimed between his fingers before setting it aside. “I’m not sure how cold Dorian plans on letting it get, but we could always move the board inside or get a second, for future distractions.”

“I’d like that.” She paused, then said, “Perhaps you won’t balk then if the second doubles as a Satinalia gift?”

“It can be for both of us,” Cullen answered as his heart pounded nervously. Why he was suddenly testing the bounds of their relationship, he wasn’t sure. “I mean, I haven’t been this challenged in years. Who taught you to play?”

“My father,” she said, her voice quiet but not sad. “He said it’d be good mental training for a mage, and it was. It taught me to be perceptive at an early age. What about you?”

Legs canted open, Cullen leaned forward to brace his forearms on his knees. “My older sister, Mia. She had something of a natural talent for the game, and she’d get this smug look on her face whenever she won — which was all the time,” he said, smiling at the memory. “The day I finally won… it was worth all the hard work.” 

Evelyn tilted her head, watching him closely as she said, “Alistair told you that we have people assigned to them all, right? That we could easily break this silence between you and them?” 

Cullen knew and was glad for it considering the regime had eyes on his siblings too. But that they’d been allowed to continue on without being adversely affected by his mistakes gave him some peace of mind; it even provided him a convenient excuse to keep things as they were. 

“He told me, but I have no desire to change things. If they knew anything about the Resistance keeping tabs on them or the fact that I had resurfaced, they’d want to help, and I will not allow them to risk life and death simply because they want to be there for me.”

“Well, I hate to break it to you, but they already know we keep tabs on them.”

“Of course they do,” Cullen sighed. 

Evelyn frowned, following his movements as he wrapped a hand around his nape. The cold of it welcome as his body flushed with agitation.

“They’re glad to know someone will get them out if things start to fall apart, but it’s news on you they’ve been most interested in, which we supplied — until we actually found you.”

“I appreciate they haven’t been told.”

“It wasn’t our place to make that decision for you, and I’m not saying you should invite them to the manor for Satinalia or anything ridiculous like that, but a letter would go a long way. Even unsigned.” Her gaze was intent as if searching for something to help her understand.

It wouldn’t do to snap at her, not about this. So Cullen leaned back in the chair, took a deep breath, and said, “I’ll consider it.” 

A lie, Evelyn knew; she waved a hand, said nothing, but Cullen felt it as if she had. Even in this, he was being selfish, but he despised himself more for causing that inexplicable thing that drew him to her to fade away, yet again, because of it. 

“Evelyn.”

Her haunting, evergreen eyes locked onto his amber. She was beautiful, Cullen had never denied that, but she was more so bare-faced. Softer; more her, less only what the world was intended to see. 

”I’ll consider it” he tried again. 

Evelyn blinked at him. “If that’s what you really want.”

“I don’t know what I want, but I know what they deserve.” Which was a lot more than a measly letter but it would be something at least.

“And what about what you deserve?”

“I think it’d be nice to have a lot of things, but that doesn’t mean I deserve any of them.”

Her nose wrinkled as she placed a finger on top her king. She began to tilt it sideways. 

“You’re resigning?” He asked, mildly concerned he had offended while muddling through this difficult topic. 

“Unless you’d rather keep watching me swirl the drain?” Evelyn raised an eyebrow. 

“Of course not,” Cullen replied quickly, frowning as the piece toppled over. “Care to indulge in this distraction a little longer?”

“I’d love to,” she said, smiling.

He won the next two games, but like the first, Evelyn made him work for it. During it, the conversation had, mercifully, dissolved into small talk and simplicities, and while it proved informative, all it did was make him want more from her. Mainly since it was now apparent her reserved attitude toward him was only a response in kind to his.

After their tryst, Cullen had focused on Resistance matters, determined to set their plans in motion, and had found very little time for much else. Intentionally. Sex was easy if it was just that, sex — a rare one night stand or trip to the Rose — but he didn’t know how to handle it alongside this affinity he held for Evelyn. 

It was clear now he was too selfish to drive her away. Cullen didn’t want to weigh Evelyn down with something else she didn’t want, but when they were alone, just the two of them, Evelyn was herself. Not the only hope for Thedas should the sky rip back open. He needed her to know that would be enough, but this… barrier between them, even though Cullen was the one to erect it, he didn’t know how to tear it down to do so. 

Perhaps offer a hand to help her up from her seat? Or one on the small of her back as he escorted her up the grand staircase? These opportunities passed him by, and Cullen could feel her slip from his grasp as she looked at him sidelong, and said, “Be careful in Redcliffe. I’d be loathed to hear you’d been injured,” in means of farewell. 

Impulsively, he said, “Evelyn, about what happened between us—”

She looked faintly surprised, briefly. “You don’t have to do this,” Evelyn said seriously, turning to face him fully. “It was… nice.“

“Nice,” Cullen echoed, tone flat. 

A flush of embarrassment or perhaps discomfort stained her cheeks. “It was what it was, and I have no interest in trying to corner you into something you don’t want.”

“And what don’t I want?” Cullen asked after a beat. He realized too late that question had the expectation of leading somewhere he hadn't intended.

Evelyn looked at him, incredulous. “How should I know?” she demanded. “You’re not exactly forthcoming with anything.”

Cullen nodded to indicate he had heard her. Also to agree with her. The corners of his mouth turned up into a rueful smile. Speaking about personal matters had always been a glaring weakness of his, but he didn’t regret forcing this upon himself. Cullen knew what the heat of her mouth tasted like, and he wanted to taste it again.

So he did.

The kiss was slow and careful, brief, and he still held her chin between thumb and index finger when he whispered against her lips, “Is this forthcoming enough?”

He received the soft touch of her tongue against his by way of answer, and Cullen shivered.

A touch on his cheek. “Like I said, be careful in Redcliffe," Evelyn murmured and then she was gone.

_ Elfroot numbs the pain, but you’re tired of feeling numb. _

He didn’t deserve her, but it’d be nice to have her — to feel everything — if only for a while. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) In my modern AUs, Evelyn is a researcher/lyrium physicist. 
> 
> 2) I had intended for these two to keep their hands off of one another for a few chapters, but they do what they want. :shrug:


	8. I feel like Wile E. when he runs off the cliff, doesn't fall till he looks down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is lyrics from Marty O'Reilly & the Old Soul Orchestra's [Shudder](https://youtu.be/UqdhotV2PGY).  
>   
> Actual footage of me trying to bridge together where I've been & where I'm going in this fic:  
> 

The south side of manor’s high brick wall was overgrown with ivy. It crept up from the ground and concentrated around the windows where huge, white flowers bloomed only at night. He watched them slowly close as the sun began to rise. Waiting with a week’s worth of clothes in the duffle by his feet. It wouldn’t do to convene on the building upon arrival, so how long they’d be gone, Cullen wasn’t sure. 

“That should do it,” Blackwall said. The crunch of gravel as the man stood, then the scrape of metal on metal as he hid the spare license plate in the back of the truck. A standard precaution in case things went south. None of them worried it would. 

Wiping his hands off on a rag, Blackwall leaned against the vehicle next to Cullen. The ex-Warden usually kept to himself, but always left an interesting impression. A sturdy build, if not a little soft. His silver-streaked hair pulled back into a hasty bun, and he wore an unhappy expression, but his grey-blue eyes were kind. What always drew Cullen’s attention, however, were his elaborate sleeve tattoos. 

On Blackwall’s left arm, it continued to branch down his wrist and hand, onto his knuckles where it ended with the word: GREY. There was a small crown tattoo on top of the ‘E’ where a wedding band would rest. Blackwall winked as his queen appeared in one of the bottom floor windows. 

Josephine’s fingers lifted in farewell before plucking a flower from the wrought iron balconet and disappearing. 

“Those moonflowers, she’ll be sad to see them go,” he said.

Cullen’s gaze automatically moved up a floor to where Evelyn’s rooms were. They seemed closer to something she might prefer, but it didn’t seem to fit quite right.

“With any luck, they’ll come back in the spring.”

“Nah,” Blackwall said, partially tucking the rag in his pocket and folding his arms. “With any luck, we’ll be gone from here come spring.”

“Optimism, or do you know something I don’t?”

“Optimism. The alternative is accepting we’re stuck here in this…” His expressions blackened. “Void forever while the world burns around us.”

“Orlais hasn’t fallen yet,” Cullen reminded.

“No, but she will,” Blackwall said. “If I know Gaspard, he started planning something the moment Amladaris pinned that crest onto his lapel. He knows Celene will do whatever it takes to keep her throne. The kicker is, Gaspard is sure to send her running to him. It’s probably why the fucker hasn’t made a move on Orlais yet.”

Cullen frowned. Blackwall made more sense than he would have liked. Amladaris gained Tevinter through a political movement, Ferelden by coup, and half the Free Marches with fear, but those tactics wouldn’t work on Orlais. It’s citizens adored the Empress for putting country first and not involving them in the struggles of those around them. Orlesians even accepted Advisor Morrigan, whose position mirrored Amladaris’ in Ferelden eerily close, when the Order spoke out against the appointment. As a result, Celene was content to cast the Order aside in favor of the Imperial Army — the chevaliers of old — where loyalty was everything in retaliation.

However, not everyone would remain at the Empress’ side if Gaspard were to challenge her. Some would remember their General was merely dismissed due to the Great Game and nothing more. 

“If a civil war breaks out, all it’d take is an offer to help end it in her favor and Celene would submit.” 

“Exactly.” Blackwall pushed off the van, spat off to the side as Bull finally re-exited the manor. 

With him, Bull had two paper sacks, from which several baguettes popped out the top, and Dorian.

“I’m coming with you,” he said, hand automatically lifting to silence any line of questioning. “I don’t want to hear it, Rutherford. The three of you don’t exactly scream stealth, so I’ll be there to dig your asses out of trouble when it inevitably rains down upon you. I mean, a bread truck?”

“I think it’s brilliant,” Bull replied. “We’ll have snacks if we get hungry on the road.”

Dorian made a disgruntled sound and climbed into the back. 

Backtracking toward the driver’s seat, Blackwall said, “It never hurts to have a mage on the team.”

Listening to Dorian fuss and Bull laugh, Cullen slowly nodded and resigned himself to the fact it probably would all go to shit. Just how or why would be the surprise, it always was. He shouldered his jacket and made his way around the vehicle, tossing his bag in the back with the others before taking his place the passenger seat. 

“I didn’t have breakfast,” Cullen admitted as he shut the door behind him.

“See!” Bull said, handing over a chocolate croissant. “Brilliant.” 

_______________________________________________________________________________

Five days later, they were finally ready to move on the warehouse.

Their plan had been meticulously crafted. Places of interest within had been marked and assigned. Exit strategies and escape routes plotted should something go awry. There was nothing left to do but implement their plan — Cullen glanced at his watch — in about another hour.  

Still, he felt uneasy, and looked again around the room, trying to put his finger on the source. 

Blackwall, cigar between his teeth, was methodically cleaning his handgun. Piece by piece. A few Chargers were putting the final touches on their truck. It was now dark blue instead of black, and read  _ Majestic Bread: it tastes  _ _ so _ _ good  _ with a griffon clutching a loaf of bread alongside it. Krem was adding to the tattoo wrapped around Bull’s shoulder and in the far corner, Dorian spoke in low tones into a glowing blue crystal. 

For a moment, his blood burned for lack of lyrium. 

If he were still the Commander, waging this war correctly, he would’ve just taken a dose to ensure that profound connection to the world around him would be at its peak when mission time came. He ached for a kit. Ached to know he’d do everything  _ better. _

Getting one would be easy. Krem had made mention of where the Resistance’s emergency reserves were hidden in the cellar before he knew. What the inside of that room looked like, Cullen didn’t know. It was one thing to not take it for years because it wasn’t available, but he didn’t trust himself to look at that brilliant blue and be able to recall a single reason why he didn’t want to take it.

He couldn't remember one now. 

Suddenly, Cullen was so enraged with himself he tasted blood in his mouth. He finished a glass of water, then another, and before anyone could notice the shaking, left. Fifty-seven steps later, he arrived on the roof. 

It was cold. 

His hands were colder. 

The rooftops and alleys were coated with snow, and he had a nice view of Lake Calenhad. The setting sun shimmered against the wind-rippled surface, glared off the ice encasing the shoreline. Redcliffe was a historically rich city filled with castles and cathedrals, some dating back to the Dragon Age. From afar, it was still beautiful, but up close it was a maze of crooked, winding streets around buildings with dirty, cracked facades pressed too close together. The windows shuttered; the streets empty and abandoned.

Except for everything west of Guerrin Lane.

The great gates to Redcliffe Castle were sealed up for the night, but the windows were alive with bright lights. The streets had a steady flow of people out for a leisurely stroll past shop windows or on the hunt for a restaurant to dine at. 

Cullen heard a sound and saw moment out of his peripheral. He viewed the patrol rounding a nearby corner with distaste. There would always be those who prospered from the suffering of others, but to see the divide so clearly was sickening. 

Approaching footsteps muffled by the snow drove Cullen from his reverie. “Not now, Dorian,” he said, breath frosting between them. 

The mage shrugged a shoulder and stood sentinel with him over the quiet and fading light. Silence lingered between them except for the occasional crunch as Dorian ate an apple he had brought along. The sound was annoying, slightly, but the company wasn’t. 

While they had pictures of the building’s blueprints thanks to Grim, who handled cleaning duties at City Hall part-time, Blackwall had insisted on scoping things out in person. He had visited Sherwood Distribution a few days ago as a potential client and purchased a ridiculous amount of apples. They were Orlesian Pink Ladies, and Cullen had refused to eat any out of principle.

“I’m going to talk now whether you like it or not,” Dorian said, tossing the core into the snow piled up in the corner of the rooftop.

“If you must,” Cullen replied. 

“We know this guy is a distribution point, I’m not arguing against that, but he’s not high level. There’s no way he is. He’d be in Highever or someplace less…” He frowned, hand waving dismissively off to the side. “We’re not going to find a list of names and I doubt he’s marking which trucks it’s coming in on.”

What Dorian said was not a revelation, but they wouldn't come out empty handed. Valammar, the entry point to the Deep Roads Bianca had turned over to the Order, was located just south of where they now stood. The thaig was revived by the Carta centuries ago, and instead of warring over a forgotten city, Orzammar requested they send an emissary, and The Bemot Accord was born. 

Valammar was given autonomy in exchange for ridding the streets of Orzammar of the casteless by giving them someplace to go and leaving the lyrium trade alone. As a result, Valammar never had a Templar presence, Red or otherwise. They knew the red lyrium was being brought above ground elsewhere, but Eirlys going directly to the source to try and figure it out was a suicide mission.

“The records will still be of use,” Cullen insisted. “The amount of Red needed to maintain the population here would be substantial, and with the way Blackwall said Auguste treated him, I’m starting to think Evelyn was right about the significance of these men being ex-Orlesian soldiers.”

Dorian’s hazel eyes sparkled with mirth. He was trying not to smile, but one corner of his mouth had ticked up. “I’m going to tell her you said that.”

Cullen stifled the sigh of disappointment. “I’m sure she'll be ecstatic,” he allowed, dryly. 

Dorian snorted.

This time Cullen did sigh, and to get back on track, asked, “So, what exactly is the problem?”

“I understand your dedication to eradicating this scourge from your homeland, I really do, but I want to make sure you’re not overly optimistic this lead will give you that.”

He still wasn’t sure why Dorian came along in the first place, or why he cared at all about his expectations. It was very kind of him, but this wasn’t about Cullen. He was just there, and as Evelyn has pointed out, the team could handle this on their own. But Cullen wanted to be there, wanted to be part of the solution, not part of the problem, so that was what he told him. 

“By contributing to the crime rate?” Dorian asked lightly, but his face was serious. “There could be serious repercussions from this.” 

“Perhaps for Auguste,” Cullen shrugged. “But I doubt they’d want to add to the unrest here by clamping down any harder on the citizens. Like you said, look at this place.” 

Frowning, Dorian did just that. “Don’t tell anyone I said this, but I think you’re right.” 

_______________________________________________________________________________

In the warehouse district, Sherwood Distribution was one of many long, old brick buildings with a series of narrow windows high up. The storefront was more for identification than function as the double doors lacked hardware and the windows on either side were boarded over from the inside. Blackwall turned, swung close to the building, then backed into a loading bay. Grim did the same, parking in the adjacent space.

The vast, paved yard was full of crates and pallets, but no other vehicles. The far end of the building abutted the retaining wall for Lake Calenhad. As they got out, a truck drove by. It didn’t concern Cullen. People intentionally turned a blind eye in this city. Plus, nothing about their presence would spike anyone’s suspicion, except Auguste’s should he sporadically return to the warehouse. But it was a Friday night, and he had boasted to Blackwall about the young blonde he’d been entertaining as of late. 

Alone, Cullen made his way to the personnel door a short distance away. He kept stock still under the glow of the outdoor light. For once, his hands nearly felt warm. Steady. He was prepared and calm. In his element. He pressed the doorbell. 

Nothing. 

A longer press. Allowing the  _ buzz _ to continue on and on until something slammed into the door. 

The clink of a chain. Cullen heard two deadbolts release and a door handle turn, then he looked up.

Slowly, the door swung inward. Time seemed to pause when the blond-haired man came into view. Cullen could see each minuscule crystalline growth along his bottom eyelid, could see his pupils contact then expand as recognition flashed his Red-tainted eyes. There was hatred on his face, real and bone-deep.

Cullen felt it too. 

The world unpaused. Cullen raised his arm. A bullet between the eyes sent the man staggering backward. He caught the door with his foot and stepped inside as the officer hit the floor. 

There were burn marks around the entry wound. Blood was beginning to pool around the man’s head. His eyes were more unsettling in death; the red almost luminous, flecked with black. Cullen could hear it, the song; it was faint but unlike anything he’d ever heard before.

For good measure, Cullen put another bullet in him. Dead center in the suprasternal notch. 

The inside of the building was bathed in light, filled with row upon row of shelving until midway down, then pallets of barrels and crates. Cullen moved silently through the warehouse, peering down the aisles until he came to bay three.

He released the lock on either side and pushed the door upward. The team entered; collectively stilled when from somewhere in the building came a distant clatter. He looked in the direction of the sound and clenched his jaw.

There wouldn’t be another officer. It was rare to be immune to the degradative effects of red lyrium — to be able to keep their minds and physical appearance and gain that inhuman strength and agility. Most were destroyed from the inside out. 

Horrific physical changes occurred as red lyrium veins sprung up alongside their tainted blood. Some even manifested abilities that closely resembled Creation magic, like healing and barriers. The process was rumored to be beyond agony, and afterward, they felt nothing. Remembered nothing, which was probably a blessing in disguise, and began their new lives anew as ‘Protectors of the State.”

What these creatures thought of their situation, no one knew. Soldiers couldn’t speak, or if they could, didn’t do so in front of anyone that wasn’t their kind. 

The group could expect to have to deal with two since they were always seen in pairs. They were prepared so it would be manageable, but no easy task. Soldiers could endure devastating injuries, their bodies failing them long before their determination did.

Cullen could feel their red eyes on them, weighing them. The little hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. 

After a moment more, Bull brought his palm up; a silent question —  _ shall we?  _

Cullen gave him a stiff nod before returning to the front of the building. Straight ahead, there were two doors, behind him another bay door rattled open. 

Stepping over the body, he checked the room on the right, the restroom, first. It was surprisingly clean. Cullen pulled the door shut and entered the other room. 

The office was small, and like the bathroom, unusually tidy. There were several filing cabinets, a bookshelf, a desk, office chair, a crate used as a wastepaper basket, and an open lyrium kit. The empty vial was discarded into the bin, but the glass syringe had been cleaned and returned to the velvet lined box.

Cullen had been aware the officer had just had a dose. How could he not be? Even now, he could still hear the song, but he knew deep down, it was because he just  _ wanted _ it. Nothing more. For all its risks, for all its side effects, he remembered all too clearly how it had been on the blue. What it could be like again no matter the color.

The others had been considerate enough to not say it outright, but their plan was crafted with this in mind. He  _ hated  _ that was necessary. Hated everyone knew he was weak and predictable. It was pathetic.

He was pathetic. 

Flicking the kit shut, Cullen exhaled a sharp breath through his nostrils and forced himself to turn away from it. Forced himself to give the room a thorough once-over, finding nothing remarkable, before leaning over the desk to examine the ledgers.

The one off to the side clearly belonged to Sherwood Distribution. It matched the others lining the bookshelf and was very detailed, but the log front and center was of a different size and color. 

There were no dates or descriptions. Only numbers written in clusters of five, then two rows were skipped before the next bunch. They could be quantities or weights, distribution counts. Perhaps all of those things. Then there were seemingly random x’s in the neighboring columns. An exhaustive analysis wouldn’t be possible with the limited time at his disposal, so Cullen took photographs of the pages the two books were open to. Then the previous ten from each in hopes some helpful pattern could be discerned back at Skyhold. 

He glanced at his watch. Just a few more minutes. 

Under the officer’s ledger, Cullen found a letter. 

> _ Dead end. We should reconsider approaching the Forbidden One.  _

Something had been partially erased from envelope it was tucked into. Cullen held it under the nearby lamp and was able to make out:  _ fuck Duhai— _

A sudden crash made Cullen jump. There was no yelling or anything that would signify there was a problem. It was just part of the plan. That was all. There was no reason to second guess that, especially when a low creak bloomed into a cascade of shattering glass.

Still, his heart was racing. He shut out the racket, focused on his breathing a moment to calm it. 

He fanned through the sales receipts stacked in the inbox until he came across Blackwall’s to verify he used the cover details Cullen had specified. Redcliffe Bakery was a real, local bakery, but minimal questioning would clear them without issue when suspicion inevitably fell upon them. Any blame was predicted to fall solely onto Auguste for not doing his due diligence. And fuck him if he ended up in front of a firing squad.

The rest of the desk’s contents were mundane save for a bottle of Perrier, the half-empty glass beside it, and a silver-framed photograph face down in the partially open bottom drawer. It was the only item in there. The young, dark-haired girl, no older than perhaps five, stared into the camera without a hint of a smile. Something about it was very depressing. 

On his way out, Cullen scanned the room one last time. He almost regretted insisting the building stay intact, but he wanted to bait Samson out into the open. Not hand him an open and shut case. 

Cullen gave the dead officer a wide breadth as to avoid getting his shoes bloody. Since Bull was casually leaning against the wall, he took in the damage the Chargers had made in such a short amount of time. The pallets were coated in ice and half of the shelving had been knocked over, littering the ground with broken glass. If he was allowed to live, Auguste may never financially recover from the losses.

“We have enough apples, so we loaded up on wine and cigarettes. Who gives a shit if it’s Orlesian, it’s free,” Bull shrugged.

Cullen nodded and took the offered cigarette, tucked it behind his ear. “Any problems?” he asked, removing the silencer from this handgun so he could holster it.

“Nope,” Bull said, but there was something troubled on his face.

“What is it?”

Bull’s eye moved over to the twisted corpse a short distance away; where the other one was, Cullen didn’t care. 

“They didn’t put up much of a fight,” Bull said, reaching up to pull the overhead door shut.

He braced himself on the concrete and hopped down from the ledge. The officer had been quick to reach for his weapon, but Cullen had his in hand when the door swung open. 

“They probably didn’t have their evening ration yet,” he replied. After a certain point, Red was the only thing sustaining them. 

Bull frowned then, bending his knee a couple of times after getting down the same way. “Yeah, maybe,” he said finally.

“But you don’t think so?” Cullen asked, reaching in his pocket for a lighter.

“I think we should get out of here before the mine goes off,” Bull said, smacking the back of the Charger’s truck. A wink and a jaunty salute from Krem out of the passenger window, and they drove off.

Bull had a point there, so Cullen climbed into the truck. He gazed out the window, not really seeing anything as they left the warehouse behind, and smoked and thought. Trying to work out what was going on.

Samson was out there somewhere, poisoning their country. A confrontation between them was inevitable, but Cullen couldn’t fathom how it would unfold or if the faint, reverberating  _ boom _ destroying a chunk of his supply was enough to set it in motion. 

_______________________________________________________________________________

It was almost 23:00 when they arrived back at Skyhold. The windows to Evelyn’s rooms were dark. Cullen was pleased she was getting some rest, but some part of him was disappointed even if he would have suppressed the urge to seek her out immediately, because  _ no. _

And yet they arrived at the top of the grand staircase almost at the same time from different levels. His mouth curved up of its own volition at just the sight of her. Cullen was not in love with her — that would be absurd — but he loved her dark verdant eyes and the way she smiled when she saw him. He was very fond of her and had missed her. 

“Evelyn.”

“I’m glad to see you made it back in one piece,” she said, taking a few steps backward. When Cullen followed after her, Evelyn turned around, and they fell into step. 

“Not a scratch,” he promised. Then popped the last bit of toast with honey and butter he had thrown together in the kitchen into his mouth and dusted his hands of any crumbs. 

“Anything pressing I need to know?” 

Still chewing, Cullen shook his head. 

“Fill me in tomorrow then?”

They were together now. It wasn’t like he’d be getting much sleep anyway. But the shadows under her eyes told him to let Evelyn go.

“Of course.” Cullen gave her a tight, controlled smile he didn’t really mean. “Good night,” he said, reaching for the door handle to his rooms. 

“Cullen,” she said, stopping him with a hand on his forearm. The touch sent a warm, pleasant jolt through him. “If you’d rather do so now, we can. I just didn’t want to be presumptuous.”

“It’s late, I don’t want to keep you.”

“From what?” she asked, lips quirking into a bemused half-smile. 

He felt some answering heat on his cheeks; cleared his throat. “I really don’t know,” Cullen admitted, opening the door to welcome her in. It wasn’t like she’d go to her rooms to sleep anyway.

Evelyn chuckled, placing a hand on his chest as she stepped inside. The contact, brief as it was, helped. Said more than words could have. Cullen hadn’t been positive the little he offered before leaving was enough to repair the damage between them, but she was in his suite; setting her things down on the desk with the obvious intent of sticking around for a while.

Looking at him askance, eyebrow raised, Evelyn circled back to the couch as he and approached. 

Glancing down, Cullen couldn’t stop himself from smiling even as his cheeks flamed. He began to roll his shirtsleeves up and leaned against the desk.

Evelyn sat, crossed her legs. 

The beginning. That was where all stories started. She listened attentively, asked minimal questions, and was of the same mindset regarding the significance of the coded ledger. She was pleased Dagna already had the film. It was only a matter of time before they could set to work on breaking it. Cullen had planned to tell Evelyn about the kit, but then decided he didn’t want her to worry or think him incapable.

“Wine, cigarettes, and Pink Lady apples. We’ve come out of some stings with a lot less,” she mused once he finished. 

“With any luck, we’ll have come out with a lot more.” A pause, considering, then he said, “I knew the officer.”

Evelyn sighed a little. “Well?”

Cullen looked away, out at the darkness. His eyes had been blue instead of red, and the lyrium had partially eroded his mind, but hardly anyone chose to medically retire. His wife had stayed with him, did what she could. It wasn’t common in those circumstances, but it had helped. Given him something to hold onto. 

“Once,” Cullen admitted quietly. 

“I’m sorry,” Evelyn said, equally quiet. “Is there anything else?”

He wrapped a hand around the back of his neck, fingers pressing into the tension there. “I guess the soldiers didn’t put up much of a fight, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say the others felt bad about it.” 

“Do you not?” Evelyn asked innocently. “You know as well as I do most of them weren’t given a choice or were lied to.”

Cullen just stared at her. “Be that as it may, they choose to stay.”

“They can’t live without it. You know this. So they choose to live whatever life allowed to them.”

The picture of that sad, little girl flashed through his thoughts, and Cullen frowned. Was that his daughter? Did he miss her? His wife? Did he remember Carroll was his name? Had it been resentment is his glare and not hatred?

Had that bullet been mercy or murder?

Evelyn raised her hand, palm out. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to fight — not about this.”

“We’re not fighting,” Cullen said, reaching out to beckon her over to where he leaned against the desk. He wanted to feel her, to be reminded that good things still existed in this Maker-forsaken world.

She looked at him a long moment. Then Evelyn got up and walked over to put her hand in his. 

“What happened here?” he asked, cupping the side of her head to brush the newly scarred skin on her forehead with the pad of his thumb. 

The corner of her mouth ticked up. “Have you ever wielded a sword before?”

“I can’t say I have,” he said, smiling. 

“It’s awkward.”

Cullen chuckled. “And why did you have a sword?”

“Technically it was a Spirit blade, but Cassandra has been on my case about hand-to-hand combat ever since that confrontation with Bentley.”

Cullen clenched his jaw at the memory, and Evelyn placed her free hand on his chest, sliding it up to rest on his shoulder just under the collar of his shirt. It calmed him.

“I figured it would be a decent compromise,” Evelyn continued, shifting her weight closer. “But you know Cass, she doesn’t go easy when she’s trying to prove a point.”

“Hopefully back to hand-to-hand?” He asked with a sigh. 

“Nonsense,” she smiled. “I’ll figure this out. Make it more discrete, like a dagger or something, but is this really what you want to talk about right now?”

“Come to bed with me,” he said after a beat of silence. 

She regarded him with an expression that could have meant everything or nothing. Then nodded. 

Cullen followed her to the bedroom, his hand still entangled with hers. It was stuffy in there, so he cracked a window. Evelyn crossed the room to turn on the bedside light. He was glad for it. He wanted to see everything; take in the sight of her, memorize her, and live off the image later. 

Evelyn didn’t touch him, her hands stayed affixed to the headboard as she moved above him. When her eyes slipped shut, Cullen didn’t worry she was in another time or another place with someone else because it was his name that fell from her lips. And when Evelyn looked at him, she saw him. She was a surprise, a gift, and some microscopic piece of himself knew there would never be anyone else. 

These thoughts were dangerous. 

Fleeting. 

He let them go and held onto her. Another day, he’d memorize her with his hands. And if he were lucky, there’d be another for his mouth. Cullen was beyond caring this was temporary because this was real and living and  _ his.  _ There was no lyrium to take her from him. She’d always be his, even when she was gone.

But for now, she was there, and Cullen was close. He dragged in fractured breath after fractured breath, sensing she was close too. He took over when she clenched around him with a cry, her head lulling back as he guided the motion of her hips. Matched it with his own until he spilled inside her. He wanted to crush her against him through it, say what he needed to in the shell of her ear, but in that moment, he forgot everything. 

When it all came back, his thumb was idly trailing back and forth on her thigh. “Perfect,” he breathed, never tasting a truer word.

The look she was giving him, confused and a little hurt, Cullen hated it. More so because he had caused it. And all too soon she moved away.

Putting his hands behind his head, Cullen closed his eyes. Torn between relief and regret when she only went to the restroom. Before long she was sitting on the edge of the bed after stepping into her panties, bending over to retrieve her skirt. 

Cullen rolled over onto his side and put a hand on her shoulder, caressing it cautiously. “I’m sorry, you know, for letting you leave the way I did,” he finally told her. “And I’d rather it not happen again.”

Evelyn nodded, placed her hand on his. After a moment more, she looked back at him. “As much as I appreciate that, now I have to tell Dorian he was right.” 

He raised his eyebrows. “What now?” 

A low laugh and Evelyn dropped her skirt, shifted to stretch out next to him. Cullen moved to accommodate her. There was only one pillow. He’d have to remedy that. Not that he minded the closeness, but he wanted her to feel welcome in this space. 

She shook her head. “Sometimes Dorian can be worse than Cole is all.”

Cullen didn’t laugh exactly, but it was close. There was a lightness in his chest. Something good. Unexpected. Like the hand at the side of his head and the fingers feathering through his hair. 

He wanted to touch her too. 

How did she do it so easily? 

“That he can,” Cullen agreed. With only the slightest bit of hesitation did he move his hand to her waist. “Is this alright?”

“What?”

“My hands are always cold,” he said, curling his fingers lightly for emphasis. His heart thumped hard as he steeled himself for rejection. 

“It’s fine,” she said, smiling warmly.

It’d always be something he would worry about, but for now, he couldn’t. Not when Evelyn seemed so content. 

“Okay,” he murmured. “Anything happen while I was away? Besides cutting your forehead open?”

A smirk. “I really don’t want to talk about work right now.”

“Then don’t.” 

So she didn’t. 

Evelyn had gone to Val Royeaux with Varric and Cole. They bought gifts, decorations; had dinner and saw the sights  — a normal outing normal people enjoyed. Per Leliana’s insistence, she had visited an old friend of hers. A tailor to take her measurements, just in case. 

Purple was her color. 

Perhaps violets were her flower.

_______________________________________________________________________________

Cullen blinked himself awake. His head ached and his mouth felt stuffed full of cotton. It was dark, and he had no sense of what time it was. Rolling over, he rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms. He couldn’t recall falling asleep. 

Or Evelyn leaving.

But he wasn’t sure if that was necessarily a bad thing. 

He fumbled to turn on the bedside lamp and lifted his wristwatch to read the time: 03:50. Knowing he wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep, he got up and went to the bathroom. He drank three full glasses of water. He took a long, hot bath. Then Cullen put on clean clothes and sat down at his desk to address the pile of intel that had gathered in his absence. 

On the very top was a torn scrap of paper:  _ Couldn’t sleep, see you soon.  _ Cullen traced a flourished loop of her script with his fingertip. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Evelyn had left her file and book behind as if to prove him wrong. 

The cracked spine read  _ The Way of the Knight Enchanter.  _ It was impossibly old. Perhaps a first edition. He handled it delicately, taking the time to read the notes she had written and placed between the relevant pages. He couldn’t fault her for her determination and had to admit it would be useful once manipulated to her advantage. She was very petite, and he worried hand-to-hand combat would only get her so far against someone who knew who she really was. 

Evelyn had to survive. Any other outcome was unthinkable. 

About three-quarters of the way through he came across the final note. It was well-worn, and Cullen realized it was unlike the others far too late. 

> _He lives, doesn’t. Something shines through the sickness — a name, faded faces, faith burning like a beacon — like bits of sea glass glinting on the shore. He hates it all because it’s too bright to be real. _

It took several seconds to fully process the meaning of Cole’s hastily written scrawl. Cullen sat there, stunned, but did not doubt the truth of it. He slowly shut the book, set it aside, because if he didn’t, he’d destroy the note. Of course, Cole meant well, but leaving Evelyn something to carry around and punish herself with was  _ not _ helping. The best thing that could have happened was her twin turning up with a bullet in his head. Not—

His stomach lurched sickeningly.

Why his siblings were eager for news on his status hit him hard and fast and all at once. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he closed his eyes for the count of ten. 

“Goddammit,” he muttered, exhaling. Cullen moved the files aside, took out a notepad from the desk drawer — fingers shaking as they brushed against the slender, wooden box stashed there — and turned it to a blank page. 

Cullen was no stranger to fucking up, to finding himself looking back at the wreckage left in his wake. He dreaded having to own up to it for once, but perhaps it would be worth it, no matter what happened, to know he gave them answers instead of possibilities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Security on warehouses in the 1930s (at least in the US) was practically nonexistent outside of personnel, so that’s why they just drove up to the place & parked.
> 
> 2) In my modern AUs, kits are for injecting lyrium (longer-lasting) and draughts are used while in the field or in emergency situations (a quick fix). This is a little different for my Red Templars. Officers would have the ability to keep using kits, but the soldiers (due to their deformities) would be dependent on draughts. Also, thank the Maker for modern day disposable syringes...
> 
> 3) I recently spent a lot of time finalizing my ~~very rough~~ Plan TM for this fic: 19 chapters ((maybe less)) + an epilogue should wrap this thing up nicely.  
>  _______________________________________________________________________________
> 
> Commissioned art by [lonicera-caprifolium](https://lonicera-caprifolium.tumblr.com/).  
> 


	9. The night goes so slow, c'mon, the days go so fast, tell me why nothing good ever seems to last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is lyrics from Langhorn Slim's [For a Little While](https://youtu.be/tlrnTDVMZvo).
> 
> Below: some self-indulgent smut & feelings before I focus solely on plot for 5-6 chapters.

Four days later a declaration of transgressions the Empress had made against Orlais in the name of the Grand Game was anonymously sent to every newspaper in the country. While the Game was something of a national pastime, the rule of ‘anything goes’ had long been abandoned. The accusation of breaking the laws she had sworn to uphold was detrimental. Especially when Celene only deigned to break her silence a week after the front page article went worldwide to dismiss it as fake news, a pathetic attempt at the Game, and nothing more.

Displeased with her response, General Remache of the Imperial Army called for a full investigation into the supposed crimes ranging from the use of taxpayer money for bribes to the murder of her uncle, Emperor Florian, to ascend to the throne. Not only did Celene refuse, but threatened to hang Remache for treason. All that accomplished was making the demands for an investigation grow louder.

And yet Gaspard remained silent. 

The longer that dragged on, the more concerned Cullen grew this was all some ploy of Amladaris’. Tentative plans were outlined in case it was, but until some headway was made on who wrote the article or where Gaspard was, there was little the Resistance could do with the situation. Influencing it without knowing at least one of these critical factors with absolute certainty would do irreparable damage, so Cullen willed himself to disregard it. Playing _what if_ would only add to the noise and distraction.

He felt an enormous wave of relief when Evelyn swept into his office. She was almost three hours past her scheduled return.

“There you are,” Cullen sighed. 

She gave a slight smile and closed the door behind her. “Did I worry you?” 

“You know you did,” he said, sitting up straighter as Evelyn neared. Cullen wanted to stand, catch her about the waist and kiss her but stopped himself. There was a flicker of disappointment in her eyes, and Cullen felt like he was drowning when he realized she had wanted him to. Did she always want him to welcome her like that and Cullen just never noticed? Flustered, he forced himself to look away. The bottom corner of his notepad was bespeckled with ink from his nervous tapping. Cullen flipped it to a blank page.

Evelyn took a seat. The items she had brought along were placed into the empty chair next to her. “Here then,” she said, handing over something parceled up in brown paper. “A peace offering.”

Managing to briefly lift his gaze to hers, he leaned forward to take it from her. Cullen unwrapped an unembellished, brown book. On the cover, there was a large circle, a hair darker in color, and dead center in it  _ The Lost Cartographers  _ was printed in gold, block lettering. Inside was a collection of real, antique maps from a time when the world was shrouded in mystery and danger. Most held a shred of truth because the errors were for places that existed, but at one point in time were improperly charted or merely recorded as they were imagined to be. Others maps were pure fantasy. The histories behind each one were detailed out in full and promised to be a fascinating read. 

“I can’t accept this,” he said even as his fingers curled tighter around the book. 

“You can,” she said, smiling like she had expected his reply and didn’t mind. “And I’d like it if you did.” 

He kept rubbing a random spot on the cover with the pad of his thumb. Satinalia was coming up, but it was still well over a month away.

“What's the occasion?”

“There isn’t one,” Evelyn shrugged. “I saw it, and I thought it’d be something you might like.”

Slowly, Cullen nodded and stared down at the book in his hands as his entire body warmed through.

_ I love it, and I love you. _

Time seemed to slow as he registered that. He couldn’t. He  _ shouldn’t.  _ But he did. Before panic could genuinely set in, they locked eyes shamelessly for several moments. Cullen observed Evelyn worrying at the cuff of her blouse, and the heavy silence between them seemed to lighten. 

“So you like it then?” Evelyn asked with an undercurrent of softness that made his heart beat faster.

Cullen cleared his throat. “Of course I do, Ev. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” There was a hint of color high on her cheeks. “I come bearing other gifts as well.” 

“I do hope you’re joking,” he replied blandly.

“Well, they’re not gifts per se, but I did get what we were hoping for, and then some.”

“Did you run into any problems?”

Her eyebrows lifted. “That depends on your definition of the word, problem.”

The muscles in Cullen’s jaw worked as he bit back the surge of anger. That he had let Evelyn go to the White Spire alone in the first place was asinine.

Immediately after the Betrayal, Lord Seeker Lambert declared the Nevarran Accord null and void, allowing countries to remove the Order from their national defenses. Only Celene took it to that extreme because of her personal vendetta over Advisor Morrigan, and with no Divine to protect, the Seekers took over their duties. 

Orlais remained at peace, prosperous even, as turmoil and fear continued to rock through the world after the Breach closed two months later. They were sheltered by mountains and deserts and Nevarra and had a secure supply of lyrium thanks to Kal-Sharkok. Why would they care if half of the Free Marches fell under Amladaris’ dominion? Or if Lambert vanished on his way to Dairsmuid in Rivain to investigate the brutal slaughter of mages and Templars alike? What did it matter if Lucius Corin had risen to power practically overnight? 

Whether their unconcern was due to ignorance or stupidity or simply just being fucking Orlesian, no one would ever know. The only thing that saved them was the Seekers’ immunity to red lyrium. 

It took time, but the Resistance exposed Corin’s treachery, leaving everyone horrified to learn it had nothing to do with Amladaris. Corin had been disillusioned with the Seekers and the Chantry and had made an alliance with Envy to leave it all in ruins. Celene had been left with no other choice than to reinstate the Order in Orlais. How everything had transpired left General Eron paranoid, rightfully so, but that also made him dangerous. 

“You know exactly what I define a problem as, and—“ Anyone else, and his tone would have been enough, but this was Evelyn, and all it did was make her grin. “Stop it,” Cullen insisted, feeling a smile tug at his mouth. “I’m serious—“

A breath of laughter escaped her. “Calm down, Cullen.” The way she said his name now, it was so different than when they had first met. There was something to it that he found steadying. 

He looked down and shook his head. The book was still in his hands. Just looking at it, the significance of it set something unwinding in his chest. He carefully placed it aside.

“Nothing happened at the Spire. Lieutenant Fairbanks was just as Blackwall said he’d be. Loyal to his country, not to the throne, but because of that, the conversation did not start off well,” she said, frowning to herself.

Cullen sighed and leaned back in the chair, wishing he had insisted on taking care of this himself. However, odds were they wouldn’t have allowed someone of such incompetence into the building.

“Once I mentioned Auguste though, it was like a switch flipped.” 

“Can’t imagine why,” Cullen said dryly. Everyone was allowed to play the Game, but not everyone possessed the astuteness required of it. During a border dispute with Nevarra, Auguste had falsified reports with the intent of making Celene appear as if she were ignoring the threat. However, all he ended up achieving was gift wrapping her opportunity to remove Gaspard from the board whether he had the ambition to ever challenge her rule or not. 

Evelyn reached over. There was a rustle of paper. ”I missed the return ferry while Fairbanks was getting this together and had to catch a later one.”

Cullen accepted the papers tri-folded together. It was a list almost three pages long of names two columns wide with a year in parentheses alongside each one. 

“That should be everyone dismissed with disgrace from the Imperial Army in the last ten years,” she explained. 

It was a lot more than he was expecting. “Work on this tomorrow?”

Evelyn looked at him with a gaze that was at once wry and relieved. “You’re not feeling up to it now?”

“It can wait, I’m sure you had a long day.” After her nod, he slipped the list into the relevant file. It seemed it was already time for them to part ways. It was the last thing he wanted, but Cullen wasn’t sure if he should ask her to stay. Confused with what he was feeling, what he was doing. It was all a mess in his head. 

“I was recognized today,” she said suddenly.

Hearing that didn’t help at all. The average citizen wouldn’t know who she was, which made her getting noticed all the more worrisome. When he let himself look at Evelyn, she was regarding him uneasily.

"I’m not upset. Not with you,” Cullen said. She pulled a face as if she found the concept distasteful and then moved the remainder of her things from the chair to the desk when Cullen stood to join her. Taking a seat, he briefly turned his gaze to the purple flower next to her small handbag.

“Celene has declared that wearing violets — purple like the color of her family's crest — is a sign of political support. They’re being handed out on every corner on the Avenue of the Sun,” she explained. 

There had been a flash of jealousy, and then a bottomless fear he couldn’t look at too closely, but now all he could think was,  _ not violets then.  _

Cullen frowned. “Are people wearing them?”

“In Val Royeaux, but I didn’t see any in Lydes.” Evelyn tentatively held her hand palm up between them. Without hesitation, Cullen shifted in the armless chair to face her, braced elbows on knees and took it in both of his. Her skin was a little cooler than usual.

“Are you alright?” He asked, carefully pressing his thumbs into her palm on either side of the mark and rubbing gentle circles. He’d never heard her complain, but Cullen knew it bothered her and hoped the action helped in some way. 

She smiled for him. “I am now. How about you?” 

“Tell me what happened and we’ll see how I feel then.” 

“Ok,” Evelyn said in warm agreement. “I’m not sure if someone from the Spire tipped her off or if it was just my usual luck, but Morrigan approached me in the bookstore; greeted me by name which was a little more than startling since we’ve never met.”

The distrust surrounding Morrigan was warranted. The only reason Cullen wasn’t entirely troubled by this turn of events was that Eirlys trusted her. For years, she had used Morrigan as a consulting operative in unfavorable situations revolving around ancient artifacts and forbidden magic. Situations like Kinloch. And as much Cullen hated to admit it, Morrigan had proven herself useful time and time again even if her motivations were firmly planted in a grey area. 

“What did she want?” 

“To introduce herself as an ally,” Evelyn said. He couldn’t seem to bring himself to care with her hand on his cheek. He leaned into the touch, breathing in the scent of her perfume on her wrist. 

“And?”

“I think she could give us a clearer picture of what’s happening in Orlais. Vivienne is champion at the Game, but she isn’t an Advisor and she never fully recovered from the rumors of her duplicity.”

He was very aware of his heart beating in his chest, of the lust building for Evelyn at just the feel of her lightly scratching his hairline.

“Cullen,” she said, somehow managing to both draw out the word and enunciate it perfectly. 

That was when he realized he wasn’t listening anymore, had stopped his ministrations on her hand and was just holding it like a fool. Flushing with embarrassment, Cullen lifted his head. The automatic apology died on his lips when he found her evergreen eyes burning with something he’d only seen flashes of. Believing in that look was a terrible idea, but he couldn’t stop himself.

Evelyn leaned forward, and he let his eyes fall shut; shivered when lips gently brushed against his.

“Maker’s Breath, Evelyn,” he murmured, wrapping a hand around the back of her neck to keep her close. Cullen could feel her breath against his mouth. “What are you doing to me?”

“I’m trying to make you feel better.” 

Cullen laughed under his breath and leaned back like the hand pressing against his shoulder wanted him to. He swallowed roughly as she straddled him. There was no stopping the sound that left him when Evelyn found his lips again. 

He moved her skirt out of the way; felt the silk on her thigh-high stockings, then grabbed her ass to drag her into the fabric straining to hold back his arousal. Evelyn sighed into the kiss; the sound telling him she was just as affected. 

Her hands were at the waist of his slacks, tugging at the clips to his suspenders. And then they were on his shoulders, smoothing the span of them before moving to his shirt buttons. There weren’t words adequate enough to describe the overpowering sense of trust and care he felt in her unhurried movements. He reveled in the moment where only the two of them seemed to exist. His fingers drew shapes lightly across her back, felt the dips in her spine through her blouse.

His cock twitched when she tugged his hair, encouraging him to grant her access to his neck. Cullen moaned as she kissed and nibbled his skin; heat rising to his cheeks again when she nuzzled his pulse point where the heavy beat of his heart was all the more apparent. She hummed a pleased sound against it.

“So it’s working?” she asked, disentangling herself from his grasp to stand. 

“Is what working?” Cullen wondered, looking up at her. Sitting up straighter, he held onto her hips, wanting to do so until his hands didn’t feel so cold anymore, as she moved between his legs. 

Evelyn kneeled. His legs canted wider when she fastened her mouth on his chest. His breath shuddered out, amazed a spot so ignored could elicit such sensation.

“Making you feel better,” she mumbled, unbuttoning his slacks. 

He huffed out a laugh again. But it was short lived as Evelyn palmed his cock through his clothing. A half-second later and his hips were automatically lifting so she could free him from the confines of his pants easier. 

“That wasn’t an answer.” Her breath, a humid heat promising of things to come, ghosted across his length, and his heart raced in anticipation.

“I feel—“ A sharp intake of breath as she cupped him to run her tongue up a thick vein on the side. “Great. I always do— with you.” 

Gently, she took him into her mouth. With a satisfied groan, Cullen gathered her wavy locks together, running the silky strands through his fingers a few times, and wrapped it around one hand. The backs of his fingers brushed across her temple before placing his other over hers on his thigh.

He let himself think of nothing but her. The heat of her mouth, the lazy jerk of her hand in tandem with the bob of her head. Not the door. Not the fact anyone could walk in on them. As far as Cullen was concerned, it was only the two of them in this house in the middle of nowhere. Safer than he could ever hope for. A moment frozen in time.

She squeezed her lips together around his shaft, intentionally running up and down his entire length a few times, and he forgot how to breathe. 

"Fuck," he gasped, startlingly loud in the silent room, and bit his lip. Evelyn exhaled in amusement around his cock, not enough to be considered laughter, but it was what it was. Her grip tightened, twisted, and though the pace remained leisurely, his breath came faster.

“You’re perfect,” Cullen told her, low and fierce, and she moaned around him. “You shouldn't be real.”

But she was with her head bowed gracefully over his lap. 

His toes curled in his shoes. He didn't want to disrupt the reverence she paid him, but Evelyn wasn’t some random person doing him a service. She was everything he never had; nothing he deserved. And she felt so goddamn good he wasn’t sure there was anything else he ever wanted to do in life again. 

“Ev, I’m going to come.” 

Her mouth left him, but she continued to pump him with her fist. “I don’t have an issue with that if you don’t,” Evelyn murmured, nosing his curls. 

He sucked in a breath, then another one. She looked up at him, and her tongue slowly swiped across the base of his cock. Cullen shook his head. His balls tightened. 

Evelyn grinned, broad and pleased, and then pulled just the tip in and out of her mouth. Her nails lightly traveled down the underside of his balls, and he came. She continued to gently suck him through it, stretching out his pleasure until his vision nearly blacked-out.

Only his rough breathing disturbed the stillness when Cullen came back into awareness. He loosened his hold on her hair, then petted it in apology as she released him.

“Stay with me tonight,” he said, tucking himself away. If Evelyn ever had the inclination to, she could have, but as she once reminded him, Cullen wasn’t exactly forthcoming. Even with himself. The least he could do was try and offer her more. It wasn’t what she deserved, but then again, neither was he. 

“Um,” she said, seeming to blink out of a trance when he offered Evelyn his hands to assist her to her feet. “I don’t sleep well.”

Admittedly, Cullen worried his own demons would find him with her by his side, but the worst thing that could happen between them had already occurred. Letting go of her, he leaned back, despising the pain preemptively blooming in his chest almost as much as he despised losing that physical connection.

“I don’t either, and you don’t have to. I just thought—” Cullen swallowed and shook his head. Friends. Casual sex. Nothing more. 

“You don’t worry what the others will think?”

“They already think plenty, and it hasn’t deterred me yet,” he answered, wishing his tone didn’t sound quite so bleak. But he felt foolish and didn’t understand the fingers fidgeting with the collar of his shirt. Cullen closed his eyes and tried to ignore it.

“Forgive me,” he sighed. “I shouldn’t have—”

_ “Cullen.” _

He blinked up at her, brow furrowing. Evelyn looked truly uncomfortable and yet determined.

“I was only asking because I know you value your privacy. I… care for you, and—“

Cullen looked away again, rubbed at his neck. Maker, he shouldn’t have done that, but he couldn’t help it. His heart was pounding, and his chest felt tight.

“Talk to me,” she said, weaving her fingers through his hair. He sighed out some of the stress that had built within him.

“If there were nothing between us for them to talk about I would regret it more,” he admitted. 

Then there were fingers on his jaw encouraging his head up, and lips met his. It was sensual, slow, and it wasn’t just a kiss, but something much, much more. 

_______________________________________________________________________________

Cullen was no stranger to sleepless nights, there’d been hundreds of them, but with Evelyn by his side, they didn’t seem quite so long. As it was, she stayed when she wanted and didn’t when she didn’t. It was more than he had been expecting long-term and left him reluctant to pick apart their time together to pinpoint her deciding factor. Rationality told him Evelyn was just as unprepared for this level of attachment as he was. That now wasn’t the time to feel this way. Not while they fought a war from the shadows with resources stretched far too tight. 

Yet, it all felt so  _ right. _

There were times Evelyn seemed sad, even when she was smiling, but she had lost a great deal and somewhere along the way Cullen had become one more thing to lose. Deep down, he had known casual encounters weren't really what he wanted from life, and it had been impossible to end things before it became something more meaningful. For both of them. 

Evelyn had said she cared about him, and no one had ever done that for him before. Coming to terms with that had taken time, but if she wanted him, he was hers. A friend, a lover, someone to hold onto on darker days — whatever she needed. It hung between them, unspoken because it was difficult to voice such things. Harder still was the fact that was reciprocated. 

Years of practice had made Cullen proficient in pretending everything was fine, that he didn’t think there was something fundamentally wrong with himself. But perhaps it would be easier now, to navigate the jagged edges of his own mind. If he could meet Eirlys’ gaze and not be cut to ribbons, well, that would be a drastic improvement.

Especially given her apparent mood since her return an hour ago.

Unexpectedly, her voice rose, so it carried crystal clear through the heavy, ornate double doors. “I told you I didn’t want to involve her!”

Without further ado, Cullen took the handle in his hand. The two women looked at him as he entered the room. Evelyn sat in her usual place, dead center on the left side of the table, and Eirlys stood opposite from her with both hands braced on its surface. And when Amell’s eyes narrowed at him in irritation, Cullen could only think the feeling mutual.

“What’s the problem?” Cullen asked as he came around the table and drew out a chair.

”The usual,” Evelyn said, looking bored. 

Eirlys shook her head and scoffed, then stared off to the side. Cullen turned his head to look at Evelyn, she was absently picking at a fingernail, and her body language wasn’t _quite_ as easy as it should be. It seemed like she was just barely managing to not say _fuck it_ and give Eirlys the fight she was looking for. 

Beneath the table, where Amell couldn’t see, Cullen briefly placed a hand on Evelyn’s thigh. When she glanced over at him, there was nothing but passive acknowledgment on her face, but her posture seemed to ease fractionally, and he thought on how he liked that.

“Like I said,” Evelyn continued. “Morrigan approached me. There won’t even be a paper trail; she’s a bloody shapeshifter, she can come and go as she pleases and no one will be the wiser.”

Eirlys stood straight, folded her arms defiantly. “Why now?”

“A patrol in the Exalted Plains finally caught some of the thieves raiding their supplies red-handed. Turns out, it wasn’t deserters, but a group of elves — who then escaped through an Eluvian in a nearby ruin,” Evelyn said, watching the other women with something like suspicion on her face. “Naturally, since this occurred Venatori and Red Templars have been spotted all over the Dales. You can guess how well that’s working out for the Dalish.”

Even though the Dales were part of the Orlesian Empire, the throne could not care less about the clans as long as they didn't break any laws and paid their taxes. Not even the systematic slaughter of the Dalish had spurred Celene to lift a finger. Should human territory be encroached on, however, the Empress and Gaspard would reconcile overnight to handle the threat — which was the one scenario they could disregard entirely. Amladaris was no fool. 

“They don’t have it. We don't know where Celene got the keystone, but Briala stole it from her years ago.” Eirlys mashed her mouth into a thin line.

“It’s just fucking great you knew that this whole time and said nothing,” Evelyn snapped. 

Cullen was irate, but he held his peace for a moment. It seemed to stretch indefinitely while the truth clawed at him. Warden Commander or not, he had insisted Eirlys wouldn’t have kept such an imperative piece of information from the Resistance. But in the end, this was not his burden to carry; it was hers. 

“Gaspard has control of Andoral's Reach,” he said, trying to de-escalate things. Speak the problem plainly and nothing more. “Celene can’t arrest him for fear of outright rebellion from the army and at this point, she can’t assassinate him either. Tensions were already at an all-time high, but add in a potential elven uprising—”

“That’s not what’s happening,” Eirlys gritted out.

Evelyn raised her brow. “Something else the rest of us weren’t privy to?”

“Don’t be like that,” she replied, her voice even, but firm. “You know as well as I do Briala is only looking out for her own since nobody else is.” 

Cullen sighed, feeling weary. “It does not matter what she’s doing. The incident has destabilized everything. It’s only a matter of time before civil war breaks out, distracting all of Orlais from the real problem.” 

“Which is now a laundry list of worst-case scenarios,” Evelyn said, waving her hand through the air. “Not only is Amladaris making progress on recreating the Anchor  _ and _ trying to track down an actual keystone, but Celene had the Eluvian the soldiers broke moved into the palace so Morrigan can repair it. It would be stupid to think she won’t succeed or that it would need a keystone. It’s her exit strategy, for her and her son.”

Eirlys frowned thoughtfully at her. “Celene wants to track Briala down and make amends, rectify some of the problem?”

“That’s the assumption,” Evelyn allowed.

“Don’t let Vivienne relay the information.”

That drew a chuckle from him. “It’s already been done. Right now our only hope to regain some semblance of control over the situation is to use the people we have undercover.”

There was a brief pause as Leliana entered the room. The natural pout to her full lips curved down a little more than usual, and her steel grey eyes were troubled. It was chilling, how sincere her expression was.

“Cullen,” she said voice ringing like a bell in the sudden silence. “I need to speak with you in private before we get started.”

Automatically, he stood to join her outside of the room. Before allowing the door to fall shut behind him, Cullen glanced over his shoulder, feeling a vague discomfort. The mixed company was long forgotten as Evelyn didn’t seem interested in looking away or hiding her concern, though it was softened some by the little, forced quirk of her lip.

Then the door latched shut and all Cullen was left with was a lump of dread in the pit of his stomach.

“They are safe,” Leliana said. Her smile was tight, not quite sincere, and only put him further on edge. “But we’ve had word from one of my people that last night, a plain-dressed man arrived at Mia’s shop just as she was preparing to lock up and then left a short time later. Exactly one hour after he left, she closed up and went to the dead drop.”

Given the unsteadiness of his hands, it was almost impressive he managed to accept the small, open envelope of the same size and weight as the one he found at Sherwood Distribution. The handwriting was different, yet familiar, and Cullen shook his head, trying to clear the roar in his ears so he could focus.

> _It’s time we talk, old friend, face-to-face.  
>  _
> 
> _ Ignore this, and you’ll lose a lot more than your chance at finding the source. _
> 
> _ Raleigh _

Pain lanced through his skull and his vision scattered into nothing but white noise, and for a moment, the world tilted. He managed to stay steady, upright, and then ask: “Where are they?”

“Home, work. There is no need to uproot their lives yet, because of this.”

It was a photograph of him and Evelyn holding onto one another on his stoop in New Haven. Her face was fully visible as was the backs of his fingers on her cheek. And on the reverse side, it read:

> _Starting with Trevelyan.  
>  _
> 
> _ -45.17, 62.63 _
> 
> _ Come alone. _

Suddenly, he felt as cold as she had that night. Like there was ice in his veins. The beat of his heart increased and with it the sharp, piercing pain behind his eyes. The beginnings of an episode and there was no  _ time.  _

He would have to find Cassandra before it could take hold. 

_ Make  _ her understand. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The entirety of this fic spans about 6 months & this chapter ends right at the halfway mark. I know it's been snowing like _forever,_ but some places see snow 9 months of the year, so let's just... go along with it.  
>  _______________________________________________________________________________
> 
> A Patreon reward sketch of Noir Cullen/Ev from [Barbara Yuhime](http://yuhimebarbara.tumblr.com/).  
> 
> 
> Also, for anyone interested in last month's reward of Noir Blackwall/Josie, you can find it [here](https://ladymdc.tumblr.com/post/177736564232/yuhimebarbara-josephine-and-blackwall).


	10. If I’m not alright, will we be alright?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is lyrics from Tow'rs' [Alright](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VQrD1bMJKh4).  
>   
> Since I'm halfway through this thing, I wanted to stop & thank everyone who’s reading this story. Like not just the commenters, but the subscribers and lurkers ((I KNOW YOU'RE THERE)) and even people who may open this once, leave kudos, and never return. I'm not very confident in my writing ability, and to be completely honest, I overthink/second guess every word I share, so just know you help in your own little way (Black Heart)
> 
> Also, look! I photoshopped a thing for my WitD Tumblr posts:  
> 

It was no secret Cullen wanted nothing to do with that life. Allowing his hair to grow far past the authorized length and refusing to shave daily were subtle outward reminders. He even shied away from prayers and sayings the Order stood upon out of spite. However, it was all a facade, and nothing more.

As much as Cullen loathed to acknowledge it, he was a Templar through and through. The Resistance had kept tabs on him and his siblings because they sought to recruit his skills. Skills Cullen possessed because the Order had ingrained them into him, and if he were completely transparent, they were the only reason he was still alive.

“You need to see reason,” he said, feeling himself fray around the edges. He’d managed without it, but just barely and that was in day-to-day life. How was he supposed to somehow rectify the predicament he created, and face Samson, without it? Cullen drew in a breath to keep himself steady. 

“Stop letting your resolve in the matter affect your judgment.”

Cassandra sighed. “You came to me about this months ago. I’m sorry you no longer agree, but—“

“I will take this to Trevelyan,” he snapped. 

“Please do,” she said. “Perhaps you'll listen to her when she says you don’t need it and that you don’t give any less without it.”

Cullen shot her a  _ look,  _ to which Cassandra answered by folding her arms with a defiant lift of her chin.

“Think of all the progress we’ve made on the transport lines, what you’ve uncovered. Infighting could change everything. If you had been with us in the beginning—“

_ “No,”  _ he said, voice hard. “Don’t do that. Don’t assume events would have unfolded differently just because of me. It’s not as if things are suddenly playing out in your favor. Quite the opposite in fact.”

“Of course, the situation has its complications,” Cassandra allowed. “But they all do and how to best handle it is for the Council to decide, not you.”

His anger welled, making his hands shake more than they already were. Cullen pressed his fingers into the bridge of his nose as his head throbbed sickeningly. Five steps away, four steps back.

“Because of my decisions, my family— they no longer feel safe, and Trevelyan has been compromised. This is  _ my  _ problem.” 

“It is our problem,” Cassandra insisted. “But as far as Evelyn goes, that photograph is months old, if Samson wanted Amladaris to know, he would, and so would we.” 

“None of this makes any sense.”

She shrugged, smiled a little. “None of it ever has, why would it start now?”

He couldn’t help but laugh bitterly at that. Cullen placed his fists on the table and leaned over it. He shut his eyes, wishing that the floor would stop sporadically pitching beneath his feet. 

“I am sorry, Cullen,” Cassandra said softly. “That this happened, but lyrium isn’t the answer.” 

“I’m not sure what other options you think I have,” he muttered. 

“As I said, you are not alone in this no matter how much you may feel so.” Then there was a hand on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze. Cullen wrenched sideways away from her sympathy. 

She stepped back, refolded her arms. A small frown appeared on her brow, but she said nothing. Cassandra didn’t deserve this. None of them did. 

“I’m sorry for wasting your time,” he said, walking toward the hallway. 

“Cullen—“

“I just... I made a mistake,” he said heavily then pulled the training hall door shut behind him. 

What he wanted and what he needed had always been two very different things. Right now, Cullen needed to drink some water. He needed to have some elfroot, though it did next to nothing for the episode itself emerging on the other side was less unpleasant that way. And finally, he needed to climb into bed and accept his lot in life because Cullen could feel it. Those chains dragging him under.

Ridiculous.

This whole clusterfuck could’ve been prevented so easily had Cullen done the logical thing from the beginning. But he had refused because he had a list of reasons. Reasons that went beyond the simple fact he  _ couldn't.  _

And he regretted it. 

All of it. 

Especially when he found Evelyn in his office with her kind eyes and unwavering trust.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“Well, I would’ve thought that’d be obvious, no matter how you wanted to look at it, but I decided to wait around for a different reason,” she said and vaguely pointed at the thin, wooden box in the center of his desk.

Silence. 

He had forgotten he had left it out. Cullen stepped into the room, shut the door. Hands in his pockets, he forced himself to not avert his gaze. Forced himself to keep his head held high and not bow it. 

To his surprise, Evelyn looked away. 

“Were it any other day, I wouldn’t stand in your way — this is your life after all — but under these circumstances, I won’t tolerate it.”

“Why? Because you care?” Cullen bit out, feeling betrayed.

“It has nothing to do with how I feel,” she said, very gently. “And everything to do with how this isn’t an excuse to undo everything you’ve gone through. You went through the worst of it alone, without any medical assistance, and kept going. You don’t—“

He took three determined strides in her direction.  _ “Bullshit.” _

She looked up at him, unflinching. “It’s not going to help anything, Cullen.”

“Whatever this is,” he said, gesturing aggressively between them. “Isn’t  _ helping.” _

Evelyn took a breath, then nodded. “Fair enough,” she said, briefly closing her eyes as though pained. In his chest, his heart twisted, and Cullen resolved to ignore its pull as he should have from the beginning.

“Rylen will take your place at the table until you’re ready to look at recent developments constructively,” she added, walking past him.

Her perfume… It wafted through the air. Unmistakable.  _ Unforgettable.  _ His stomach rolled. Lunch didn’t make it all the way up his throat, but Cullen could taste bile nonetheless. There was no hope for him ever to catch that scent again and not be consumed with despair and self-hatred. Knowing he had failed her as he had failed so many others before. Worst yet, he would have to look at her, daily, and know it would inevitably happen again. 

In a fit of frustration, Cullen grabbed his kit and launched it with all of his strength at the door Evelyn had disappeared through. 

There was nothing for it, the two things in his existence where want and need intersected, he couldn’t have them. 

And Cullen didn’t know how he would ever be able to accept that. 

_______________________________________________________________________________

His head pounded, his stomach turned inside out and withered away, and the act of breathing itself took far too much effort. But what had him paralyzed wasn’t the pain. That was nothing in comparison to what he had endured in the past. It was the terrible memories hovering around the edges, trying to find a way in and take over.

At some point, his mind surrendered to the exhaustion weighing down his limbs, but he never entered the Fade. 

Only floated in a vast, empty darkness. 

But it could not last forever. 

_______________________________________________________________________________

When Cullen drifted back into consciousness, his whole body ached, but not as bad as he had anticipated. The headache, however, was still in full force, throbbing through his skull down to his nape in time with the slow, steady beat of his heart. Void, even his hair hurt.

The sheets were damp, clinging to his clammy skin. He weakly kicked at them. A window must be open somewhere nearby since the sharp scent of winter occasionally overpowered the sweat thick in the air. His shoulder protested as he rubbed at the sleep crusting his eyes so he could crack them open. 

That was a mistake. 

He emitted a thin sound from the back of his throat.

“Oh good, you’re up.”

Pain bloomed through his spine and hips as Cullen twisted toward the voice. The headache worsened, needling at the backs of his eyes and affected his vision. He blinked through the burn caused by the strangely emphasized halo around the bedside lamp. 

“Woah, easy now,” she said, lifting a hand to cover her eyes. “I’m not here for a show.” 

“Abby,” he croaked, feeling both relief and horror that it was not Evelyn. Their accents were disturbingly similar, and it had been disorientating. He realized then he knew very little about Henderson, other than she had once been a thorn in Calpernia’s side back in Tevinter as a reporter, and had very poor bedside manner. 

Cullen tugged the sheet further up around him. He cleared his throat. “Why are you here?”

“To invite you to a tea party,” Abby deadpanned, blinking at him a moment before she shook her head. “Why do you think?”

Not wanting to appear as useless as he felt, Cullen gingerly turned over and pushed himself upright, then swung his legs out of bed. Bad enough he had to have this conversation at all, but doing so with only a sweat-soiled sheet did little to reinforce the unaffected front he tried to present.

“I don’t need any help.”

“I figured as much,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“Then why bother?” Cullen bit out, glaring at her.

Her eyebrows went up, slightly, and she looked almost amused. “I guess it was wrongly assumed you’d want to jump right back in there.” 

And that was when he remembered. 

His heart beat harder. Cullen drew in a deep breath through his nose and let it out, slow and controlled, through his mouth. Briefly pressing finger and thumb into the corners of his eyes in an attempt to offset the pressure. 

“Where do things stand?” he asked, trying not to feel like it was all hopeless.

Abby smirked. “You know damn well I’m not the person to answer that, and before you go find who can, wash up. You look like shit warmed over.”

A tired smile pulled at his mouth. It was easy enough for Abby to seem dismissive, but her candor said otherwise. The fact she was there pestering him and telling him to make himself presentable meant the Council hadn’t moved forward, trusting that Cullen was still perfectly capable of dealing with it.

Immediately throwing himself back into the situation was not the healthy thing to do. It should not be encouraged, especially by a healer. The absurdity of it all was too much. 

“I feel like shit warmed over,” he admitted, smiling a little more. 

“I’m sure,” she said, laughing. “Do what you can to fix that too.”

”That was the plan,” Cullen said. 

Abby picked up a crumpled pack of cigarettes from the windowsill and dug one out. “It was a busy night, but things seemed to have calmed down, so you've got time. Take advantage of it to get your head on straight,” she said without an ounce of pity in her eyes.

He nodded and rubbed his hands together. They were about as close to warm as they ever got now. The ache for lyrium distant and dull. Not a cause for concern. But the other ache… 

“I have no idea what I’m doing.” 

“None of us do,” Abby said, giving him a faint smile before leaving him alone. 

Cullen picked up the bottle of elfroot he had intended to take before the episode took over completely. Two long pulls emptied about a third of the potion. He exhaled, glad for the cool, minty sensation on his tongue instead of the astringent bitterness that would have further upset his stomach. 

It was pitch black outside. Cullen turned his head and looked at his wristwatch as he returned the container to the nightstand. It was 05:35. Abby seemed to resent mornings on principle, and there was a pang of reflexive guilt for wasting her time. Then his whole body flushed with shame, hot and cold at once. 

With the pounding in his head receding and the knotted tension in his muscles slowly pulling free, he was left feeling dizzy and frustratingly weak. Cullen carefully got to his feet and made his way to the restroom where he drank about a gallon of water, bathed, and brushed his teeth. Afterward, he stood for a long time looking at his face in the mirror. 

His hair was in order. Eyes tired, yet alert. He could probably do with a shave. Several days of stubble was crossing the line into beard territory, but all in all, he didn’t look as tattered as he felt. Cullen turned off the light and went to get dressed.

He chose a white button down, dark grey slacks, and put on a blood red, shot with gold tie. Finished, he absently shook the elfroot bottle, as if it needed it, and took another two pulls before stripping the sheets from the bed. They joined the towel in the hamper. Deciding to leave the mattress bare while he was away to allow it to air out, Cullen sat in the chair by the cracked window to put on his socks and shoes. 

There were traces of Evelyn throughout his room. Subtle, but there if you knew where to look. A small box of lemon drops on the windowsill next to the cigarettes. The shirt of his she preferred to sleep in neatly folded in the bottom of his open wardrobe. Two pillows instead of one. Cullen opted for a sweet instead of a cigarette just to have something in his stomach besides elfroot. Instead of wondering if this were the closest he’d get to ever tasting her again, Cullen fell back on breathing exercises to stabilize himself and clear his mind as he had been all morning.

Of course, he would attempt to make amends. He had promised himself he would offer Evelyn more, so he would, even if it was a lost cause. He’d had a life before her, albeit a miserable and lonely one, but he could live it again.

Simple.

It was still early, but not too early. The door to Evelyn’s office was partially closed. It was rare for her to shut it while she was working. That usually only happened when she had a visitor or was focusing intently on a piece of intel. There were no voices, so Cullen pushed the door inward and lightly knocked on the door frame.

He stilled when her eyes caught his; dark and mysterious and gone before he could get a read on their evergreen depths. He knew then that his efforts were for naught, that his composure was only skin deep.

Evelyn tapped the tip of her fountain pen thrice on the notepad before setting it down. “Come in,” she said.

Her office was a mirror image of his, except the decanters and glassware were arranged on a small table by the couch, and her desk was rotated 45° and located in the far corner of the room between the bedroom and balcony doors. The walk seemed to take an eternity and Evelyn didn’t look up from the maps she was rearranging as he took a seat.

His fingers were shaking, and Cullen felt as if this conversation was over before it even began. 

“I’m not sure where to start,” he admitted.

Looking him over, Evelyn hesitated a moment. Then she turned around, picked up a plate of half-eaten toast from her secondary work surface, and handed it to him. 

“Food seems like a good place to start,” she said.

Cullen nodded, and starving, took a bite. The spread tasted of spice and apples, and knowing Evelyn, she had spent part of her sleepless night in the kitchen making it. Baking was the one thing she habitually did when it became impossible for her to pretend that screaming wasn’t the only thing she wanted to do. 

While it was delicious, his stomach rolled with a queasiness borne from guilt and the bread seemed to suck up any and all moisture in his mouth. Managing to swallow, he gestured at her glass of water. 

“May I?”

One corner of her mouth pulled up into something that wasn’t a smile. “Of course.” 

“It’s good, I’m just…” He shook his head and took a drink of water, feeling guilty about  _ that _ as well. 

“I know,” she said, waving him off. Then Evelyn bit her lower lip. “So, I want to apologize—”

“Evelyn,  _ no,” _ Cullen said, unable to keep the frustration from his voice. He’d been absent and cruel, and he wanted to do anything he could to make it better, but he couldn’t… not that.

Evelyn offered him that not-smile again and continued on. “To alleviate some of the gravity of the situation, I did what Leliana should have initially and moved your family to safe houses. We have agents running Mia’s shop in the meantime and have paid off everyone else’s employers in hopes they have a job to return to once this passes. There didn’t appear to be anyone tailing them, but after what happened to Ezmond, I refuse to risk it. Especially since Mia confirmed Samson himself delivered that message.”

Despite it all, Evelyn was still there, doing everything she could to keep him from destroying himself. It hurt being reminded like this that he didn’t deserve her. 

“Thank you,” he said, managing to sound calm. 

Evelyn leaned forward and rested her hands on the desk, palms up.

Cullen’s fingers twitched, and he curled them into fists.

“Look,” she sighed, withdrawing. “I appreciate you came to me, but if you’d rather, Leliana or Rylen can bring you up to speed.”

“We started this together, I intend to finish it together,” he said, feeling worse. This was not how things were supposed to go. Evelyn was supposed to be angry and distant, unforgiving, and Cullen was to thank her for all her hard work, apologize, and offer her whatever was left once this business with Samson was finished. 

Not… wound her further. 

“You should see yourself, Cullen. You look like you’ve been cornered by… fuck, I don’t know —  _ me,” _ she said throwing her hand up.

“I want to be here, with you. I—“ Cullen swallowed, then cleared his throat. It was so hard then, to hold it back. But he’d learned years ago it was necessary to keep stuff like this in. Push it all back to where it came from and keep going.

“Nothing has to change unless you want it to.” 

“Even after?” He asked, staring at her. 

She looked away, fidgeted with the corner of a map. “I don’t know if that’s more insulting to me, or to you,” she said, her voice even softer than before.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted, equally quiet. “It’s been a long time since I’ve wanted anyone in my life. I wasn’t expecting to find that here. Or you.” 

Evelyn finally seemed to relax a little. “I’m sure you regret that now.” 

“I regret I put you in this position.” His hand shifted on his thigh, unsure if he should reach out and touch her. Part of him wanted to more than anything, but part of him felt like he’d be damning her. For now, there were real problems to address and the idea of offering her something she may still yet lose was unbearable.

“This isn’t your fault,” Evelyn said frankly. “And looking back, I wouldn’t have done anything different.”

“How can you say that?” 

“My cover wasn’t going to last forever, we knew that going into this, and trading it to have you here and your family safe is fine by me.”

Clenching his jaw, Cullen glanced out the window. The jagged peaks of the Frostbacks rose up like a great shadow against the star-filled sky. Closer at hand, there was a thin dusting of snow on the balustrade.

“I am not fine with it.”

“Well, it hasn’t happened yet.”

“And it won’t,” Cullen said decisively.

One corner of her mouth curved up ever so slightly. “There was no stopping you was there?”

“Believe me, I do not want to go nor do I expect to get much out of him, but something is off,” Cullen said, his brow furrowing. “He could have gotten your attention at any point in time the exact same way whether I was with the Resistance or not.”

“Samson doesn’t want our attention, he wants yours,” Evelyn replied.

“He’s been trying to kill me for years,” Cullen said wryly. “But now he wants to talk?”

“I don’t think anything is ever as simple as it appears, like finding the source.”

“Eirlys was unsuccessful,” he observed. Given her terrible mood the day before there could be no other outcome. Cullen wasn’t sure what she had expected. There had been too much to go up against. 

“Not exactly,” Evelyn said, frowning. “They eventually found the thaig after some difficulty. She said it was exactly as Varric described, but there was no active mining, and the soldiers on site were different.”

“Different how?”

Evelyn was silent, and then she picked at her nail. Cullen knew what that meant. Apprehension. Perhaps concern. But the expression on her face looked like something else.

“They spoke,” Evelyn said finally. 

Cullen thought he would laugh. He nearly did. “Eirlys gave them the opportunity to speak?”

“She only gave the order to stand down because one of them shouted they wanted to talk,” Evelyn said, smiling a little more than she had yet so far. Briefly. “To you.” 

“To me?”

“She told them to take a closer look at New Haven if they wanted to find you.” 

“New Haven,” Cullen muttered, but he knew it was more than that. Eirlys would do anything if it meant getting Alistair as far from the Resistance as possible. “Where is she?”

“Not here,” Evelyn said, looking away quickly. 

“Where?” Cullen repeated, voice hoarse. 

“She got what she wanted.”

“Ah,” he hummed, closing his eyes. They were well on their way to Weisshaupt then. All they knew about the Grey Warden HQ was that it was located somewhere in the Anderfels. It was best for Alistair now, given the corner he and Evelyn were backed into. 

“She said she was sorry.”

He smirked and refused to open his eyes because everything hurt again. Leaning back in the chair, he rubbed his hands over his face. Seconds later glassware chimed and the sound of pouring water. His arms dropped. Evelyn handed over the glass, and he accepted.

“Like I said, this isn’t your fault, and even though Alistair was… extremely pissed, he can’t stay here now.”

“I know,” Cullen sighed. Then he nearly emptied the glass. With Orlais on its current course and the possibility of Amladaris beginning his hunt for Evelyn anew, there was no guarantee Skyhold would remain the Inner Circle’s safe haven. 

“Thank you.” He tipped the glass toward her before setting it down. 

Her smile reached her eyes then. “You’re welcome. Are you okay?”

“I will be,” he said, knowing that much was true. He always was. 

At that Evelyn walked around the desk. She leaned against it and crossed her arms, wouldn’t look directly at him. 

“I won’t insist I go, but I want you to take a team. I’m sure Samson expects as much anyway.” 

Cullen nodded, slowly. Then stood to join her. He couldn’t tell her it was best she stay within the manor walls and he couldn’t bring himself to ask her to join him, so he said neither. Instead, he raised a hand to brush a strand of hair back into place, the other he placed in his pocket. She exhaled as his skin brushed against hers, and he marveled at how the stress seemed to leave her when his palm cradled her face.

Evelyn gave him a soft look of understanding. 

“You wear your hair up more than you used to.”

“Do you prefer it down?”

“I don’t have a preference,” he said, running the pad of his thumb along her lower lip. She leaned into him then, and like instincts were taking control, he found himself drawn to her. Cullen’s eyes slipped closed as he pressed his forehead to hers and his other hand moved to cradle her head fully. Her hands wrapped around his forearms. 

“Come back to me in one piece.” Evelyn’s breath whispered against his mouth as he tried to remember why he shouldn’t.

He shifted to press his lips to her temple. Her hair tickled his nose as he drank in her scent: floral and fresh and still his. 

On the horizon, Cullen saw a hint of dawn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Abigail Henderson still belongs to [LarasLandlockedBlues](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LarasLandlockedBlues) (Black Heart) If you haven't already, you should check out the [amazing universe](https://archiveofourown.org/series/982629) she's created for Abby/Rylen. Their relationship **is** canon.


	11. The difference between what should be and what's so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is lyrics from John Paul White's [What's So](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CPdDwsKH7kc). 
> 
> Sorry for the long, rambly conversation that is sure to give you more questions than answers in this update. ((Also, you all can pry Raleigh Samson from my cold. dead. fingers.))

“Twenty-four hours,” Leliana said, tapping the side of her nose before pointing at him. 

“Understood,” he said and only then did Leliana allow the door to fall shut behind her. All of a sudden, Cullen felt depressed. He still, for the life of him, could not understand why Samson would choose the location he did. 

“Are you certain this is correct?”

“Aye, I know how to chart coordinates, Rutherford,” Rylen replied, smirking. 

“Of course, my apologies,” he said, frowning down at the iron marker. 

“Does this place mean something to you?” 

“Nothing of great import,” Cullen answered. “Just someplace my family used to visit when I was a child. I wasn’t aware Samson knew of it.” He waved his hand at the map. 

Rylen absently nodded; one arm folded over his chest, the other scratched the lines on his chin. “Next, you’ll tell me you’re not going through with this for your lass.”

“She is not ‘my lass,’” Cullen insisted, staring at him.

“That was very convincing, mate,” Rylen replied lightly. “I almost believed you.” 

A weak breath of laughter left him. Cullen could not even lie to himself about Evelyn anymore. What made him think he could lie to anyone else?

“This is summer home country. My parents left me the family cabin in their will,” he said, moving the marker to the southernmost point of Darkwater Reservoir. Without a doubt, Leliana knew this, as did Evelyn. It was the only explanation for why neither pushed back. “I haven’t been there in years, but I am sure not much has changed. It had always been a place of quiet and solitude with a small scattering of residences.”

“Sounds like the perfect place for a meeting.”

“Or an ambush,” Cullen said, taking a breath. It wasn’t that he believed that would happen. Far from it. But a violent confrontation was preferable to an unpleasant dose of reality.

“Aye, that too,” Rylen agreed, frowning. “So, what’s your plan then?”

His gaze turned toward where this all began. He could not stop replaying the first moment he had laid eyes on Evelyn in his mind like it was on a loop. In his pocket, his thumb trailed over the worn grooves. Back then, the metal had been heavy, cold to the touch, but now he carried it easily. 

“Don’t die,” Cullen answered, and then smiled when Rylen broke into a laugh. 

“I think this is your best plan yet. Well thought out yet practical; I’m sure your lass will be very pleased.”

“I’m sure,” Cullen said, clapping Rylen on the shoulder on his way out of the room and digging his thumb into the soft spot just beneath his clavicle. Rylen jerked away, laughing again. 

It was time, Cullen knew, to leave, but he was unwilling to do so immediately. Firstly, he had finally rehydrated enough that needed to use the restroom. He also needed to change into something more practical for the event at hand. And he needed to see Evelyn. Departing without doing so would be insensitive and contradictory.

After some searching, he found her in the library. The area where she tended her elfroot was through an archway cut into the floor to ceiling bookshelf. Inside, the alcove was minimally furnished. A small writing desk, a pea-green armchair with a circular side table, and instead of books, the shelves were laden with plants. 

Evelyn was in the window seat; her long, chestnut braid over one shoulder. Golden light slanted in through the diamond-shaped panes of glass. Two heartbeats later, Cullen, feeling breathless, pulled at the collar of his sweater and approached. 

“Do not be angry with me.” 

“I’m not mad,” she said, tucking the worn piece of paper she had been mindlessly fiddling with into the open book before her. Evelyn shut it and moved it aside. “I trust you, and I trust you know what you’re doing. The intel is clear, and if this were a trap, you’re right, there would be some clue. New Haven was no secret, nor was any other attempt on your life, and this wouldn’t be the first time someone high ranking defected to our side if that’s what’s happening. I mean, he wants to meet you in the middle of nowhere, and that’s a lot less risky than how I meet with Solas.”

Cullen could not be bothered by the reminder. Even if he did not trust Solas, he trusted Evelyn. Had faith she knew what she was doing, and that should something ever feel off, she would handle it. Seek help if needed. But considering the way Evelyn had left Council without a word after he voiced his decision, he had not been expecting a similar sentiment from her. It left him unsure how to go about what he had planned to tell her. Placing his bag and coat in the armchair, he sat in the window seat across from her with his back against the wall and one foot still on the ground.

“The place Samson chose is technically where all this began for me,” Cullen said. Her eyes caught his, finally. Evelyn looked beyond tired, and he had mixed feelings about that. 

“Out there, our closest neighbor was something of a recluse. We only crossed paths because one day our car got a flat tire near his property and he came out to help. He had a scar very similar to Rylen’s, except he wasn’t as lucky.” Cullen gestured toward his right eye in explanation. “Rosalie, being young and curious, asked about it. Of course, my parents apologized profusely, but he only waved them off; said he was not ashamed of what he had sacrificed so others could live and that stuck with me,” he said, noting the way Evelyn frowned.

“A few days later I announced to my family that I wanted to serve. I was around thirteen at the time, and save for Mia, they all brushed it off as a passing phase until they couldn’t anymore. Just before I went to basic, we all took one final trip to the cabin. Mia even went down early to decorate it to ‘my liking.’”

“So it looked the same?” Evelyn asked; her eyes sparkling in the morning sun. 

“Basically,” Cullen said, and then chuckled. “There were some streamers. A cake.”

Her mouth curved up; the action slight, but no less genuine for it. “What kind?”

“Chocolate.”

“That all sounds lovely,” Evelyn said, closing her eyes momentarily. 

“It was,” Cullen said, extracting the coin from his pocket. “That was the night Branson gave me this. He said it was for luck, but it’s always been more than that.”

“Like what?” 

“The person I wanted to be. All the things they didn’t want me to sacrifice.” Cullen leaned forward and held a hand up between them. Evelyn responded as he hoped she would. The sleeve of her oversized sweater was pushed up, and there was dirt under her fingernails. Her skin was  _ warm.  _ Warmer than the burning of his cheeks. “But I am done sacrificing everything good in my life, and I know it’s foolish, but I needed you to know that before I left,” he said, placing the coin in her palm and curling her fingers around it.

At once, anger and disbelief passed over her face. “If this is some sort of bullshit goodbye—”

“No. Not at all,” he assured, smiling. Almost reflexively, Evelyn smiled back as much as he could tell she didn’t want to. “I’ll be back before dawn,” Cullen added, pressing his mouth to the back of her hand before pushing out of the window seat. He was slinging the strap of his duffle bag over his shoulder on his way out the alcove when Evelyn finally spoke.

“I’ll hold you to that,” she said, voice thick. 

“Both things, I hope,” he replied.

Pressing her fingers to her lips, Evelyn looked down at the clenched fist in her lap and nodded. 

_______________________________________________________________________________

In the middle of the lane on Hwy 76, Cullen came to a complete stop. The two-lane freeway cut through a forest otherwise untouched for centuries and had the area been unfamiliar, he would have driven right past the unmarked turn. It had snowed massively over the countryside recently based on the drifts on either side of the asphalt, and the enchantment over the drive had degraded over time. There was a layer of snow about ankle deep over it. Despite the fresh powder, he could still discern slight depressions — a single set of tire tracks. 

He followed after them, slowly making his way through the sea of evergreens and bare-branched oaks. They crowded right up against the forest road. It was in minor disrepair, but not enough that the ride was overly rough. Five minutes later, he could see the glare of sunlight reflecting off Darkwater Reservoir through the remaining trees. 

Once in the clearing, Cullen stopped. It was dusk; the skies were clear, and there was no wind. To the south, smoke was rising.

Already, he sensed that he was being watched.

He began making his way around the lake, studying the area. The shoreline was on his left. He passed two summer cottages with no signs of life. Never before had he been there in winter and it seemed like a different place. Otherworldly, and abandoned except for a lone figure making its way to the end of the dock. 

As he neared, it became possible to make out other details. The windows were all lit in what was the den and kitchen areas. The door to the woodshed was ajar. And there were a number of large, interconnected circles where the snow had melted creating a pathway from the cabin to the nondescript vehicle and then down to the dock. 

He parked on the far edge of one to keep the undercarriage away from the fire rune itself. Getting out of the car, Cullen stole a glance at the tree overhanging the driveway. It was a vibrant green with splashes of crimson. A holly tree. Before now, he never had any idea. 

There was a moment of hesitation before he shut the car door. It was safe to assume Samson was armed and was more than prepared to use it. But if that were what this was about Cullen would already have one, maybe two bullets in him. 

The car door closed with a clipped bang. It echoed. Samson did not react. He continued to lean against one of the farthest posts, back to him, staring out over the lake. 

Gravel crunched underfoot until Cullen reached the dock where gathered snow muffled his steps against the weathered wood. He halted about three-quarters of the way down. The forest was beginning to engulf the orange sun, and the deep, dark waters looked like obsidian with a fringe of ice. For all its beauty, it was not peaceful, nor quiet. 

He could hear it. 

“I’m surprised you came alone,” Samson said, his voice a tad more hoarse than Cullen had expected. 

“Honestly, so am I,” he replied. 

Samson nodded, unfolded his arms. He plucked the toothpick from the corner of his mouth and flicked it into the lake. Light ripples danced across the water. Then Red-tainted eyes locked into his amber. 

It was strange. Like himself, Samson was dressed for utility and warmth. Boots, dark jeans, and a wool coat. He looked as Cullen remembered, and not, at once. Besides his eyes, his hairline had receded, and there was an almost sickly pallor to his skin. But Samson did not  _ look _ ill or feeble. Anything but. 

“You look like shit, Rutherford.”

“So do you, Raleigh.”

Samson barked out a sharp laugh. “But I feel fuckin’ great. You, on the other hand, it’s a bitch without it, ain’t it?”

Looking away, Cullen ran his teeth over the scar bisecting his lip. “I made my choice.”

“Yeah, as did I.”

He wished that didn’t twist at him. They had been close friends until it became clear they had vastly different views on the treatment of mages. Cullen had moved quickly through the ranks under Stannard and Samson fell into the past. Late one evening, however, he had cornered him after years of no contact, insisting there was more to the Crown sanctioned checks than met the eye. 

Cullen had brushed him off, and then a few days later the Breach had opened. 

Stannard had immediately shut down the border to all mages. Sympathetic to their plight, Samson had done what he could to get as many out of the country as possible, but he was eventually caught and dismissed from the Order. Unless it was retirement or honorable discharge, Templars were not given a stipend or a monthly allotment of lyrium. To make ends meet, Samson had continued to aid mages out of Ferelden for a price, but when the time came, Stannard also had her hand in the black market lyrium trade. 

“What was it you used to love to say?  _ ‘No one ever listens, not until it’s far too late.’” _

“I get it,” Cullen clipped out. 

“You really don’t. Templars have always been used. How many have been left to rot after the lyrium burned away their minds?” Samson asked, gesturing toward the neighboring cabin. “And now—“

“Don’t do that. What you have done, that is far worse.”

“What I’ve done?” Samson repeated, lips skewing. “What is it, exactly, that I’ve done besides turned their pain and confusion into purpose? Is it because we’re not pushing around _just_ mages anymore that you disapprove? Or is it because we don’t look as pretty as you? Not everyone was made for the Blue either, it’s just easier to tell with Red, and in case you forgot, most of us weren’t given a fuckin’ choice in the matter!”

Cullen didn’t immediately reply. He swore Samson’s eyes burned like a demon’s there at the end and that he heard the song crystal clear. 

“I have not forgotten,” he said eventually. “But that was no excuse to become his General.”

“I didn’t do it for him,” Samson said.

“If you say so.” 

“I know you’ve got no reason to think well of me, but Stannard was the one that had some grand design for ‘em,” Samson said. “Betrayed the Crown all because a few of us finally got Cailan what evidence we could of her ‘methods’ and he was going to suspend the checks and investigate.”

“And then what, Amladaris begrudgingly took up the mantle of king instead of waiting for Alistair?”

“Did you see Alistair making any attempt to claim his throne? Oh, that’s right, you couldn’t’ve because you were holed up somewhere prayin’ a clean kit would fall into your lap.” 

Cullen scowled.

“There was a time if Alistair had walked into Denerim, he would’ve stepped aside,” Samson said. “He was more concerned with that blasted trinket of his anyway, at least until his eyes turned red. Part of me was glad back then to see it happen, but then he ended up just being someone else lookin’ to use us.” 

“How tragic,” Cullen said, rolling his eyes. 

Cullen knew he was being unfair. Being the Lord Protector, ascending to the throne was the natural order of things in Alistair's absence. At the time, no one doubted Amladaris’ account of what had happened at Haven. Even Stannard had believed him. He had turned himself in and had cooperated in full. Of course, Evelyn, the only other survivor, and her Inner Circle knew the truth of the situation, but they had been busy trying to find a way to stabilize the Breach and stop the Anchor from consuming her to do much about it. By the time the fledgling Resistance was ready to come forward, the damage had been done. The general population still didn’t know the entirety of Amladaris’ treachery, but at least today, they suspected. 

“You’re still wanderin’ around in the dark with the rest of them, aren’t you?” Samson asked, smirking.

“Please, enlighten me then.”

“Why should I waste my time tryin’? I had expected Trevelyan would’ve tagged along. She’d of listened. And the fact she’s not here, well, that leads me to believe you two really are fucking.” 

Cullen sighed. He couldn’t help it. It wasn’t the phrasing that bothered him, it was that his behavior made so obvious to apparently everyone what existed between them.

“I’m proud of you, you know,” Samson added. “Never thought you’d ever see them as people.”

Cullen was especially glad then that Evelyn wasn’t around. His heart was hammering in his chest, and he took a moment to simply focus on his breathing. He wasn’t sure if he was more disgusted with himself or Samson.

“If you wanted to talk to Trevelyan, why bother specifying that I come alone?” 

“You’ve been very keen on avoiding all this,” Samson reminded. “Stickin' your head in the sand and pretending that life could still go on. I guess I wanted to see how dedicated you are to their cause; what you were willing to sacrifice to do what’s  _ right _ for a change.”

“That’s rich coming from you,” Cullen replied.

“Doin' good in this day and age is all relative.” 

“Is that what you’ve been telling yourself so you can sleep at night, General?”

“Maker’s breath, Cullen,” Samson said, laughing a little. Then he looked away for the first time since he’d first laid eyes on him and cleared his throat. “I didn’t ask for any of this. I’ve done what I could to keep the balance. It was easier when Calpernia was still around, but now I’m just tired, and the last thing I want before this all finally ends for me is the sky to rip back open.”

Cullen stared at him. He had been expecting to meet with Amladaris’ General, not Raleigh Samson. There were things he wanted to know, for himself as much as the Resistance, but his ire had gotten in the way. And now Samson’s words had stunned him into silence. 

They had both made mistakes; gotten tangled up in things neither wanted any part of, and they were both still paying the price for that. But the possibility Samson had been concerned for the welfare of others more than he had been all these years… A sudden tightness settled in his chest.

“I don’t blame Trevelyan for what happened at Kirkwall. I blame him,” Samson added, looking over at Cullen again. 

“Is that why you let her live?” Cullen croaked.

“I didn’t think she’d survive what Calpernia did to her. If I would’ve known she had, well, I’d have been in touch before now.” 

“Why?”

“Like I said, Templars have always been used, and it’s not just those of us immune to the worst of it remembering that anymore. It takes about a year or so, but it all comes back to them eventually.”

“And what about the ones like Carroll?” Cullen asked, immediately regretting that question left him. 

Samson flashed one of those old smiles of his. “I suspected that was you. Clean and quick. Probably didn’t even see it comin’ did he?” 

Cullen remembered the shift in Carroll’s expression. Remembered the shift from knowing he had done what was necessary to feeling as if he had done wrong. All because of a photograph and a half-erased scribbling on the back of an envelope.

“Not until it was too late,” he admitted. 

Samson nodded, acknowledging. “Red stops the mind from self-destructing, and they say it makes what’s left ‘shine.’”

Cullen shifted his weight and glanced toward the fading light; a purple twilight on the horizon.

“Not everyone wants a way out,” Samson continued, shrugging one shoulder. “But you can tell long before they start rememberin’ who will fall into that category.” 

“Is that what you want? A way out?” Cullen asked, glad the opportunity to ask something else he didn’t really want to know had passed. Even as his thoughts kept circling back to that note of hers.

“There’s not a way out, not like you mean it,” Samson said. “It’ll always be in us. You and me both. The difference is withdrawal makes it grow from the inside out. That stunt at Sherwood would’ve done quite a number on Redcliffe if it weren’t for the emergency reserves. It was a rotten thing to do, but I get it. Take us down, take him down.” 

“Something like that,” Cullen sighed. 

“He doesn’t need us to tear down the sky.”

“Call it a personal vendetta,” Cullen said, raising an eyebrow. “Sort of like you hunting me down every chance you got.” 

Samson chuckled, a low rasping sound. “If you’re not with us, you’re against us, so I couldn’t just let you skip off into the sunset now could I?”

“I suppose this is a good place as any to finish the job,” Cullen answered with a wry smile. 

“Suppose it is. Poignant based on what I could dig up about it.” Samson turned his head to look across the landscape for a long moment and then smiled again. “You know what,” he said, returning those eerie eyes of his to Cullen. They looked terrible under the crescent moons’s muted, silvery light; like glowing embers ringing pools darker than the waters beneath their feet. “After that shit in Redcliffe and using Maddox’s name like that, I almost just left you a trail of breadcrumbs, led you to the end to get what you deserved after all those years of being a self-righteous prick.”

Maddox was the mage trying to get out of the country to reunite with his wife when Samson got caught. There had been too much for Cullen to do thanks to the Breach’s unpredictability and had his old friend not sacrificed everything he’d ever worked for, Cullen would have never taken the time to review the file. It was an infraction, sure, but not one that should have ended with Maddox receiving the Brand. Only then did Cullen start looking into the checks, but it had been too little too late. 

Having Blackwall use that name as his cover at Sherwood Distribution had been a bold move, but a necessary one. No one would have known the significance of it besides Samson, and to the Void with him knowing Cullen was with the Resistance if it guaranteed the employees of Redcliffe Bakery would be above suspicion. 

“Why didn't you?” Cullen asked, having more than just an inkling of what he deserved. 

“I finally realized,” Samson said, “that nothing I could send your way would compare to what you’d do to yourself. I remember those nightmares you’d have. How you blamed yourself for what happened at Kinloch, and it wasn’t even your fault. The Purge, on the other hand, that was. Yours, and Stannard’s both, but you’re the one that has to live with it.”

“How astute of you,” Cullen said quietly. He closed his eyes and habitually reached for his coin where it always rested in his left pocket. It was gone, but Cullen didn’t feel unmoored without it. Evelyn was all tangled up in who he was and who he wanted to be. A thread pulling all the pieces tighter and tighter together. It was an odd feeling, but he wouldn’t give it up for anything. 

“What’s at the end?” he asked, opening his eyes again.

“A choice,” Samson frowned.

They were silent for a long time then. Cullen was beginning to have an idea of how this conversation would go. What information he would walk away with and what he wouldn’t. Too much had occurred for Cullen to take him at face value. Things had changed; they had changed. That alone was enough to put plenty of doubt in his mind, but Samson had always been clever. Whatever path he was sending the Resistance down, Samson would be the one getting something out of it in the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Fun fact: so, when I wrote this, I typed "plonts" instead of "plants" ~~because I discord in sarcasm font~~ and now I can't take the scene between Cullen/Ev in the alcove seriously.
> 
> 2) I will _eventually_ cover Calpernia  & Tevinter & how they fit into all of this. Just... bear with me. *sobs*


	12. The chip on her shoulder ain't from me it ain't from you, it's to remind her where she going & how far she been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is lyrics from Lincoln Durham's [Keep on Allie](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vzb79_8YBqM). (This is one of my Evelyn songs.)

Cullen woke the same way he always did. Early, and feeling as if he had just closed his eyes. His neck and shoulders ached. Something in his back twinged as he shifted. That was not the mattress’s fault. The list of reasons he had to be tense was longer than he wished to acknowledge. There had also been a nightmare, but for once it had not been about Kinloch or Stannard; it had been about Evelyn.

The dark circles beneath her eyes remained. It was better, Cullen supposed, than how they had appeared the day before. He allowed his gaze to linger on the scar across her throat for far longer than he was comfortable with before following the line of her neck down to her shoulder where he caught sight of gooseflesh upon her upper arm. Reaching down to where the blanket was pooled around her waist, Cullen tugged it up to cover her. He was cautious not to touch her, worried the chill in his fingertips might disturb her. Still, he could feel the heat from her body. It was almost tangible when she was this close. 

He thought back to his return. The warmth that had crept through him upon seeing her. Then the smell of flowers in his nostrils, the taste of citrus on his tongue, and soft, silken hair beneath his fingers. It felt like the most natural thing in the world, to be with her and soak her in like the sun. But for now, he was content to let her rest.

The sky lightened and the stars faded away one by one as he further digested everything Samson had disclosed to him. This whole situation was so beyond fucked he wasn’t sure they would be capable of accomplishing anything. The worst part was, they’d have to try. 

When dawn broke, the distant clouds glowed pink, and Evelyn woke to greet it with him.

“Hey you,” she said, and then cleared the heavy sleep from her voice. 

“Hey,” he replied, untucking his arm from under the pillow. Evelyn scooted closer, placing her head on his shoulder to curl up at his side. Her marked hand rested on his bare chest, and her fingertips began to trail through the hair there. He savored the warmth that filled him at the feel of her skin against his own. 

“How long have you been up?”

“Maybe an hour.”

“I’m glad you stayed.” Evelyn turned her face to press her lips, feather-light, against him. 

He could taste it in his mouth then. The truth. It wasn’t the first time nor would it be the last time Cullen swallowed it back down. It was why he was so scared of the future.

“I wanted to,” he said, stroking her hip with his thumb where his arm was tucked around her. Leaving had never crossed his mind. Not after how tumultuous the past couple of days had been. And definitely not after lovemaking in her room for the first time. 

Like their offices, her private rooms were set up similarly. The main differences being she had a reading chaise at the foot of her bed, and instead of landscape paintings, perfectly preserved flowers and herbs hung on the walls. They were all rare and medicinal. The strip of light that spilled from the cracked bathroom door seemed to highlight the simple, black frame containing a sprig of prophet’s laurel across the room. 

“I’ve been really worried about you,” Evelyn said quietly. Cullen’s arm tightened around her, and her hand moved to the whiskers on his jaw.

“You don’t ever have to worry about me.”

“I’ll say that the next time you feel this way, and we’ll see how you like it.” She lightly patted his cheek then, and Cullen smiled in spite of himself. 

“Fair enough, but I thank you, for trusting in me.” 

“It was more than just Samson, and you know it,” she said with a sigh.

“Believe me, I know, and I am sure this offers little consolation, but the episodes used to be far worse. I have made a lot of poor decisions in my life, but not taking it, I know that is the right thing to do. Now more than ever. I meant what I said before I left,” he told her, lifting the coin in his hand for emphasis. Cullen had noticed it on the nightstand as he checked the time earlier and he had been mindlessly fiddling with it ever since.

Evelyn pushed herself up onto her forearms. “I know you did.” Her green eyes were intent upon his as she leaned into her words. “You don’t seem the type to make promises lightly.” 

He shook his head, then her mouth brushed against his. Cullen exhaled through his nose, tracing the line of her spine with his hand. Dropping the coin, he cupped her neck; thumb finding her pulse there. He loved the feel of her beneath his fingers. Soft yet strong. 

When Evelyn pulled back, neither looked away. What Cullen saw, he wasn't sure he could describe what that look meant to him. 

“You are so beautiful,” he muttered.

“So are you.”

He swallowed and looked askance, his cheeks going warm. People never complimented him unless they wanted something, and they certainly never did it while looking at him like  _ that. _

Evelyn picked up the coin. “One of these days, I’ll say something nice to you, and you’ll trust I mean it.” 

“I know you mean it, I just—“ He gave her a faint smile. “You won’t like hearing it, but you deserve better than all this, than me.” 

“I don’t know who you were before all this, but I have a pretty good idea,” she said, twirling the coin between her fingers. “And for what it’s worth, I like who you are now.” 

Cullen dragged a hand over his beard and thought back to the time he would have looked at Evelyn and saw  _ nothing.  _ His chest seemed to hollow out at that. 

“It seems too much to ask,” he said, managing to bite back the reflexive denial of his own self-worth.

“You didn’t have to ask. You wouldn’t have anyway.”

“No, I wouldn’t have,” Cullen admitted. “Had you had an adverse opinion of me, I would have weathered it, assuming you still would have recruited me in the first place.”

“Of course, I would have,” she said, frowning. “You just lost sight of who you were for a bit, and what you might have once thought about mages aside, you did your job damn well.”

Cullen didn’t laugh, exactly, at least, not out loud, and he shook his head. 

“Look,” Evelyn began decisively, “it was shitty of Stannard to try to exploit Kinloch like she did, assigning you to the division that hunted maleficar and demons, but in the end, I don’t think it mattered. When it was  _ your  _ division, you made sure no one died that shouldn’t have.”

“But that’s the extent of it. I never did anything except my job.”

“When push came to shove, you did what was right.” 

“I don’t know that I would say that,” he said blandly.

“I know what it’s like,” she said, looking down, “to  _ know _ something your fault.” The sincerity in her voice left him feeling raw, and Cullen felt a pang of concern. 

“Evelyn.  _ None  _ of this is your fault.”

She looked up again, focused on him after a moment more and then offered him a rueful smile. “The night of the Betrayal, did you know what was going to happen when you walked into that room?” 

Cullen blinked to hear the subject brought up so suddenly when she had always avoided it in the past. “Maker, no,” he said, remembering the shockwaves still wracking him after Hawke had accused him of his involvement in the Purge. Remembering the horrified shock when Stannard pulled her sidearm on their superior.

“I think it’s safe to assume my father didn’t either, or he‘d still be here.”

Cullen smoothed his hand over her back to reassure, even as he felt a little uneasy to think about that day. “I am sorry for what happened.”

The quirk Evelyn’s lips was bitter. “There’s no need to be. It wasn’t your fault.”

“It wasn’t yours either,” Cullen said, frowning. “Come close again. I want you back over here.” He stretched his arm out and gestured at his own side. She didn’t immediately respond, and his heart beat faster from the sudden fear of rejection that had been with him for so many years. She was looking at him so closely. Had he been dismissive? Said the wrong thing?

But then Evelyn leaned over to press her lips against his once more.

Between her fingers carding through his hair, her mouth moving slowly against his, and the feel of her naked body alongside his, Cullen was beginning to think that perhaps he shouldn’t be holding back. She certainly didn’t seem to be; especially when she curled back up at his side and said: “You’re not the only one done sacrificing everything good in their life.”

He plucked the offered coin from her fingers and placed it back on the nightstand. As far as Cullen was concerned, he didn’t need it anymore. With a full-bodied sigh, he pulled her even closer and rested without sleeping. There was nowhere else Cullen belonged in that moment. He wanted to stay just like that — indefinitely; feel her breathing slow and her fingers go still at his hairline just behind his ear as she drifted toward sleep. 

“I’m so tired,” Evelyn said, her voice scratchy.

“Then rest,” he told her.

“I mean in general, and as much as I’d love to pretend the last forty-eight hours didn’t happen, we can’t.”

“No, we can’t, but for now there isn’t much we can do.”

Evelyn made a noncommittal sound. “Then I guess I’ll take advantage for as long as you’ll let me since this feels so… normal. I can’t remember the last time I felt normal in the middle of all this.”

A pause in the thumb idly stroking her hip.

“Breathe, Cullen,” she said, and then chuckled. “I’ll stop saying stuff like that.”

_ Please don’t,  _ he thought as the hand loosely wrapped around her forearm squeezed. 

“I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable.”

“It isn’t that I’m uncomfortable,” he said. “It is… difficult to believe that you could find that with me.”

“You don’t have to believe it as long as you get something similar in return,” she replied.

“I do,” Cullen murmured, pressing his face into her hair and thinking that it should not be possible to have anything like this after so many mistakes. Is this what Samson had and then lost? Was it something more, or perhaps less?

“Forgive me for this, but I have a question about your time undercover,” he began hesitantly. “Samson said something similar to me, about it being easier once, and I think it will help me better understand his mindset.”

“Ask away,” she said, sounding weary, and Cullen hated himself a little more for snatching away the respite she had been enjoying. He almost apologized, but he had already done that.

“It’s about Calpernia. I am curious as to who she was.” 

“You mean outside of the bullshit propaganda the Chantry shoved down everyone’s throats?”

The Chantry had begun its attack the moment Calpernia announced her intent to run for the Magisterium. An outdated term as no mage had been part of the upper house of the Imperial Senate since the country was forced to its knees at the end of the Dragon Age. 

“Yes,” Cullen said, squeezing his eyes shut. Despite how apparent it was now, he had bought into it at the time.

“Her platform wasn’t just about equality, but revitalizing Tevinter. Putting an end to the human trafficking plaguing the country and drag it into the Golden Age with the rest of the world. She was well loved there for a reason, and it wasn’t  _ difficult _ to work for her,” Evelyn said, somehow sounding defensive even as her tone remained placid. 

In Tevinter, like everywhere else, mages were free, but they were second class citizens. Required to submit their phylacteries to the country's Vault in which they resided and were subjected to biannual checks. After the Venatori gained control, General Trevelyan had spent his time trying to de-escalate tensions between Tevinter and the United Kingdom of Ferelden and the Free Marches and had to rely heavily on his staff; had to trust them to keep things running as smoothly as possible. 

On the surface, it had appeared to be despite Stannard clamping down almost instantaneously. Pushing for quarterly, then monthly checks, even putting restrictions on what sectors mages could work in. Long before the Breach opened Cullen should have suspected Stannard had the special forces team in charge of the increased checks doing terrible things in the name of the Crown. In private, her rhetoric had been so monstrous that it had eclipsed his own blind hatred years before. 

“It was people like Erimond who rode in on Calpernia’s coattails that gave the Chantry’s accusations anything to stand on, and because of his lineage, Dorian was the one who took the brunt of that side of things,” she said. “But in hindsight, it all seems like a distraction, and nothing more.”

“How do you mean?”

“We only joined the Venatori movement because Eirlys said it was necessary. It was our only lead to finding the orb, and by lead, I mean Dorian’s mentor was messing with time magic, and when we confronted him there was a scuffle, and we got thrown into the future,” Evelyn said, rolling out of his embrace to sit up. She tucked the sheet under her arms to cover herself. Cullen followed after her, deciding it was best to not touch her, yet keep close nonetheless. 

“It was like the raw Fade had bled into reality, and there was hardly anyone alive. At least no one that wasn’t completely crazed or possessed,” Evelyn continued haltingly. 

She had never brought up how this all began before, and all at once Cullen  _ knew  _ why. This alone was too much for one person to carry. The idea he needed keep his hands to himself quickly dissipated. Attentively, he began to rub small circles into her lower back. 

“Obviously what little we’ve managed hasn’t been complete rubbish since it still hasn’t happened.” Chewing on her bottom lip, Evelyn glanced over at him. “Sorry, I don’t seem to be answering your original question very well.”

Cullen swallowed and shook his head. He wanted to take it all from her, not make her relive it in any capacity. 

“I shouldn’t have asked.”

One corner of her mouth curved up. “It’s fine. Calpernia meant well,” Evelyn said. “She’d had a dream, and when I gave her proof that she had been deceived, that Amladaris had taken that from under her and turned it into a nightmare, Calpernia couldn’t live with what she’d done, and she couldn’t let me live for allowing it to happen.”

He thought of the crackle of flame, the shrieks of the dying, and the terrible heat she must have felt while bleeding quietly, too weak to move. The image sat inside of him cold and immovable; it ached. Cullen wrapped Evelyn in his arms and laid back down. He tangled a hand in her hair to trace idle circles on her neck with his thumb. 

“Did any of that help?”

“I don’t know,” Cullen admitted quietly. 

“Talk to me,” she said.

His forehead furrowed. “I’m not sure how…  _ this,” _ he said, squeezing her closer, “makes anything easier.” 

Evelyn laughed a little. “Tell me how you really feel.” 

“Just because you have always gotten by doesn’t mean you always will,” he said. No point pretending that wasn’t true.

“Like you said, we started this together, and I intend to finish this together.” 

_______________________________________________________________________________

Shortly before 13:00 Cullen went to collect Evelyn before heading to Council. It was not something they had agreed upon, he did it on impulse. The door to her office was partially closed once again but this time he thought nothing of it. Pushing it inward, he lightly knocked and entered. 

Evelyn looked over her shoulder. He was not sure what he expected, but the feelings that rushed him at the sight of her pleased smile was overwhelming. Cullen set his notepad and pen on the desk then laid his hands on her shoulders. He could feel the tension in them, so he began to knead the ache away. A deep breath filled her chest, then she hummed in appreciation. 

“Keep that up, and we’ll never make it to the table.”

“Then I shall restrain myself,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around her. She leaned into him, and he buried his face in her hair. 

“That’s disappointing,” Evelyn said, but Cullen could hear the smile in her voice.

“I’ll make it up to you.”

“Mm, good thing I know you’re a man of your word,” she said, turning around in the circle of his arms. 

His eyes slipped shut, and he leaned into the hand on his freshly shaven jaw. Her lips were sweet against his, and Cullen sighed, opening his mouth to taste her more fully. As her tongue slid against his he wished that there was nothing else they needed do but lie down together. 

“Tonight,” he reminded himself, lips lifting in a half-smile. 

“Then let’s get this over with so we’re not in there all night.”

He nodded, knowing that was what he really needed. After he had bathed and gotten ready for the day, Cullen had spent the remainder of the morning brooding alone in his office. His mind clamoring with ideas and plans, potential ways to get through the trial that lay ahead. But what it all narrowed down to was the fact Cullen wanted to be a part of the team. Needed the reassurance that came with being at her side and keeping her safe. 

Cullen stepped around her to pick up their things, then placed a hand on the small of her back to escort her from the room. Side by side they unhurriedly walked upstairs to join the others. Evelyn entered first, and Cullen noted the look Leliana and Josephine exchanged upon their arrival. Years of conditioning allowed him to keep his face even, but he couldn’t stop himself from glancing at Evelyn to gauge her reaction as he let the door fall shut behind them. 

Evelyn only frowned, slightly, then settled herself into a chair. Cullen sat as well, leaving the usual empty seat between them.

“It’s official,” Leliana said without preamble. “You are back among the living.”

Cullen, expecting this turn of events, inclined his head. "Samson intends to force our hand.”

Leliana’s eyes narrowed for a fraction of a second and Josephine’s eyelashes flickered, but they both held their peace, waiting for Evelyn’s reaction. For a long moment, she did nothing but run her fingertip over an imperfection in the polished wood. Then she let out a breath. Her dark eyes met his but slid away before he could register the flicker of emotion in their depths. That honestly only made his heart pound harder. 

“How contained is it?”

“Very, for the time being,” Leliana answered.

“It will stay that way,” Cullen insisted. 

The Nightingale’s expression turned hard. “That does not  _ simplify _ anything.”

“No it doesn’t,” Evelyn said, lifting her hand, “but I think it is safe to assume this would have happened no matter how we handled recent events, and the blame falls on Eirlys, not anyone in this room.”

“True,” Leliana allowed, turning her head to look out the window. 

“Cullen, you are the one who met with Samson.” Josephine’s face was drawn with worry. “Was there no way to prevent this from occurring?”

“Of course there was,” Leliana said, glaring at him yet again. 

“Killing him would have gotten us nowhere.” 

“You weren’t there when we lost Kirkwall. It wasn’t some tragic accident, it was a massacre, and we never recovered.”

“Do you think I’m unaware of that?” He snapped, his barely restrained anger finally boiling over. “Do you think I don’t  _ know _ how this could end? Letting him walk away was not a decision I made lightly, and I apologize, Leliana, that  _ I  _ compromised her months ago. That I wasn’t able to hide who she was to me even back then.”

Leliana stared wide-eyed at him, and Cullen looked down, laughing in spite of himself. The sound was as weak as he felt. If he had been stronger, kept want and need more clearly divided in his mind, Evelyn wouldn’t be in this position.

He scrubbed his hands down his face. “I thought I could handle this.”

“You did handle it,” Evelyn said, not missing a beat. 

Cullen shook his head and drained the glass of water set out for him. Then not quite ready to look at her directly, glanced past her out the window; seeing trees and mountains, not whatever Leliana had been searching for beyond them.

Naturally, Evelyn appeared calm and contained despite the fading color on her cheeks. Cullen frowned at her. For a few seconds more he couldn’t say anything, realizing it had been fear that flashed in her eyes.

“How can you say that?”

“Whatever his intentions are, we won’t be going in blind, correct?”

“Correct.”

“Then let’s start this meeting over with that in mind. This isn’t Kirkwall. It’s Skyhold, and it will hold if it comes to that, but since Samson also let him walk away  _ with _ information, I’m liable to believe we have a loose alliance for the time being.”

A whisper of silk as Leliana shifted in her seat. “That is assuming the intel is sound.”

“It should be,” Cullen said. “It lines up with everything we have been constructing for ourselves.”

Josephine frowned thoughtfully. “Including Orlais?” 

“To an extent. The newspaper article defaming Celene originated from the Venatori. Stirring up a civil war was to be a distraction and nothing more. Apparently, Amladaris plans to use blackmail to force Celene into submission.”

“What else is there?” Josephine asked, looking down at the file before her as if it held the answer, then back up. “Do you mean to tell us that they are bringing the red lyrium above ground in Orlais?”

“They are no longer mining it. At least not from underground. Just over a year ago, Amladaris made a deal with a demon, a self-proclaimed Spirit of Choice, named Imshael, who has it growing straight out of the ground in the middle of nowhere in Emprise du Lion.”

Josephine and Leliana went completely still, faint surprise frozen on their faces; Evelyn gave a breathless laugh.

“How is this amusing?” Josephine asked, at length.

“That Dark Future I was thrown into… There was red lyrium growing straight out of the ground. At the time, Dorian and I thought it was caused by the Veil being removed, and later, after the Betrayal, we thought nothing of it given how some individuals are so incompatible with it that they are petrified and literally turn into a spire of red lyrium.” Evelyn waved her hand in a sort of shrug. “I don’t know. Now it seems like something I should have insisted we look into.”

Josephine looked at her for a moment and then she said, almost impatiently, “And what would we have done differently? For all intents and purposes, the problem began in Ferelden and spread out from there.”

“And now it is up to us to finally contain it,” Leliana observed. “What does Samson get out of this?”

“He regains some semblance of control over the Red Templars, and he was adamant that he does not want to see the Breach reopened. Knowing what he does now, he insists that he has no desire to see us fail.”

“But if we remove Imshael from the equation, it would derail their supply.”

Cullen shook his head. “I saw the pictures. There would be no hope of decontaminating the area, and they can always fall back on the original source.”

“So, we gain nothing?”

“We gain access to Celene. Imshael is only in our world because she freed him. Samson does not know if it was intentional or not, but that is how Amladaris intends to blackmail her once she is forced to hold peace talks,” Cullen explained.

Leliana smiled, broad and pleased. “I have missed playing The Game.”

“It would be better, of course, if we were playing on the Empress’ side,” Josephine added.

Evelyn was much more subdued when she replied with, “What other choice do we have?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't want to just info dump, so I am slowly feeding you information as I progress. I hope that's not like crazy annoying... *hides behind hands*  
> _______________________________________________________________________________
> 
> An animated commission of Noir Cullen/Ev from [learielle](https://learielle.tumblr.com/).  
> 


	13. Of all the thousand ways the world could tempt me, I never met a better fighter of her fears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is lyrics from The Ballroom Thieves' [Bees](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c-QzgeKfmFY). (This is **the song** for CullEv in this fic.)
> 
> Remember how I said I don’t feel capable of doing battle scenes/violence justice? Well, I tried. ((Trigger warning for references to torture/imprisonment & gun violence.))  
>   
>  ***POST***

During the following days, they were too busy and preoccupied to do more than grab a quick meal together or steal a moment when they crossed paths around Skyhold. To balance it out, Evelyn stayed with him every night after Council. They made love then slept as much as possible. More often than not, sleep evaded them so to pass the time they would sprawl out on his bed and talk about the present and the past, but never the future. 

Cullen thought about it. Weighing the possibilities, and the odds. Wondering what things may be like for the holidays in a couple of weeks, and then in a couple of years. Evelyn was always there, even when she wasn’t, with one exception, and he refused to acknowledge it.

She had agreed to take him along after some careful persuading. He had refrained from letting his emotions come into play, and he did not deny being in the midst of so much Red would be difficult. The one thing Cullen had focused on was they had recruited him for not only his skills but his knowledge of the Order. That he would best be able to pinpoint those Samson planted at Suledin Manor to assist them when the time came. 

It was madness really, escorting Evelyn into a trap specifically designed to be her end. Cullen would not allow it if it were not for the look on Samson’s face when he spoke of being tired. It had been terribly familiar, and when dawn came that morning, he saw it again. 

“Come tonight, this will be over,” he told her. 

“Then it’ll be onto something else,” she said with a sigh. Then she kissed him and gave him a hug before excusing herself.

When it was time, Evelyn was the last to arrive downstairs. She wore dark grey wool leggings, cognac knee-high boots, and a large, cream, cable-knit sweater. Her hair was intricately plaited and pinned back into a bun. A few carefully chosen strands fell loosely around her face. She had put on eyeliner, and her lips were that shade of agreeable ruby-red he remembered from when they first met. In other words, she looked stunning. 

Cullen sighed and shifted his gaze toward the others who were all geared up appropriately for the task at hand; save Dorian, who was also dressed conservatively but with  _ effort.  _ He couldn’t be sure if the mages were only preparing for the games that lie ahead or if it was worth the risk to draw more attention to themselves, but he knew it wasn’t his place to say anything. 

Just before Evelyn reached the bottom of the grand staircase, Dante rose and rubbed against him as he padded away. The hound had already said his farewells to the rest of them, and Cullen had been scratching him behind the ears as they waited. Evelyn set the canvas rucksack over her shoulder onto the ground to give Dante his hug. It was longer than usual, and everyone present took note by carefully avoiding the exchange. 

“Alright,” she said, standing. “Let’s get this over with.” 

As she neared, Cullen held his hand out to take her bag; Evelyn gave him her hand instead. The leather glove was soft and supple, and while he missed her warmth, he was pleased she was dressed for the weather. 

Outside, the air was bitter cold, and the sky a dull gray. Cullen frowned when Dorian slipped into the driver’s seat while he was preoccupied assisting Evelyn into her place in the passenger's. Taking notice, she briefly touched his cheek. The way her eyes lingered on his suggested Evelyn had something to say, but then she merely slid into the vehicle without a word.

He closed his eyes and stood stock still as the icy wind cut right through him. Wondering what it all meant or if he would ever find the strength to ask. Although right now, Cullen could not help but fear he would never have the opportunity after letting the moment pass. Finally, he climbed in back with Cassandra. 

West from Skyhold took them directly through the Frostbacks. It was their usual point of entry into Orlais since the border checkpoint was practically nonexistent. Beyond it, there was only a string of industrial and mining towns along the two-lane freeway and the route was primarily used for transporting goods. 

After he took over, Amladaris had been very careful to not further damage the already strained relationship with Orlais, so tourism and imports were allowed with little to no hassle. Though both were severely stunted due to the hardship most Fereldans faced. Even elfroot was imported; however Orlesians price gouged the herb so intensely it was near impossible for anyone to afford outside the upper echelons of society. 

The checkpoint was told they were taking a short trip to see ‘the Empress’ garden.’ Innocent enough, if not ironically true, and two hours later they passed through the town center of Sahrnia. There was a small, brownstone chantry, a pharmacy across the street, a grocer, homes and a school. Nothing out of the ordinary except for the lack of patrols and the ease of which people went about their day. It didn’t take long before they were already leaving the city limits and the old, abandoned quarry became visible off in the distance. 

Once they bypassed the massive pit, Dorian turned left and began his way around the southern side. Eventually, signs of civilization dwindled away. The road became rough; trees rose up as did the Frostbacks directly in front of them, then they came to a stop before the next turn. The support team pulled up next to them, and Cullen rolled down his window. 

“The old guard station is about another klick up this road. Should be a good vantage point if it’s still intact.” 

Blackwall nodded. “If not, we'll make due.”

Sera and Varric had their sniper rifles, and Blackwall brought along an anti-tank rifle. Samson had mentioned an unfortunate giant that had gotten too close to the crystals and ended up infected, and thus occasionally returned for a hit. Cullen didn’t know if he was just being an asshole or not, but Suledin was close enough to the Dales it could be possible, so they were prepared at least. 

Cullen resisted the urge to light a cigarette after they split ways and headed through the large, broken wrought iron gates. That didn’t last long. Their arrival was expected if not carefully orchestrated and the dread he woke with paled in comparison to what he felt now. The drive was lined with red lyrium spires twice as tall as he and farther in, it was everywhere, even in his head. 

As Dorian parked, four soldiers descended upon the vehicle. They kept a careful distance but remained close enough Cullen had to make himself not search for a man he might know somewhere in the misshapen monstrosities. From afar the manor’s white walls had looked as pristine as the snow on the ground, but up close the stucco was cracked and crumbling. 

His left hand was shaking more than the right, and it turned out the cigarette was a waste with his jaw clenched as hard as it was. Cullen dropped it to the paving stones and snuffed it out with the toe of his boot. Then fanned out a little ways from Evelyn as Cassandra moved to her opposite side; Dorian remained near the driver's seat. 

It was 11:30 in the morning, they didn’t have an appointment, exactly, but the proprietor of Suledin Manor was delighted to see them nonetheless. Cullen wasn’t sure what he had expected, but it was not the pallid man, a head shorter than he with brown, greasy hair parted down the middle. As he descended the stairs from the veranda, he undid the button of his suit jacket, revealing a thin, gold chain across his tie, and placed his hand in his pocket; the other held a cigar. His nails were bitten below the quick, and his grey eyes were bloodshot. 

“Hello there,” he said. “It is wonderful to finally meet you, Miss Trevelyan. I have heard  _ so _ very much about you.”

Evelyn tilted her head a fraction. “It seems I’m at a disadvantage Mr.?”

“You can call me Imshael,” he said with a small half-bow. 

“Well, depending on who you’ve been speaking to, Imshael, I doubt it was very flattering.”

“It wasn’t, but what Amladaris thinks of anything is of little interest to me.”

“And why is that?” Evelyn asked. 

“Because despite what he thinks, Amladaris is only a man and he will only ever be a man,” Imshael said, then paused, turning toward the soldier nearest him. “Less than one if I dare say so. Plus, it is long past time for me to move on to bigger, and to be quite frank, better things.” 

“I assume you are referring to me —  _ demon?” _

Imshael smiled slowly as if the word amused him. “I am a Spirit — of Choice. Everyone has desires, but not everyone makes the  _ choice _ to act upon them.” He stepped forward, and Cassandra’s dark brows drew down. That only seemed to entertain him more, and the demon drifted her direction as he aimlessly took a few more steps.

Evelyn folded her arms. “And you think I will?”

There were several uneasy seconds where no one said anything. Then looking at Cullen, Imshael laughed suddenly and with real pleasure; he felt his stomach turn. He tried not to think about the last time that had happened. Tried to ignore the glimmer of red lyrium in his peripheral and the incessant song thrumming in his very bones.

Cullen had read the letters, he knew its song was a lie. Just as he knew what Imshael had wanted in exchange to break its chains was so horrendous the dissenters chose death. Until now. They may be surrounded by creatures that were faster and stronger, but for the time being, not all of them were the enemy.

“I know you will,” Imshael said, bringing his hands up in a hopeless shrug; then puffed on his cigar. “And so would your friends here, but I _choose_ to leave them alone because you know better than most that good and evil lives in everyone in equal measure; as does every decision and the reason against it. You trace yours back, follow different paths forward, wondering what would have stopped it. Wondering how you ended up being what you had not chosen to be. The Herald of the End. The one who brought doom upon the world.”

For a moment, Evelyn’s expression was so surprisingly hostile the hairs on the back of Cullen’s neck stood on end. Then just as quickly it evened out. She unfolded her arms, flexing the fingers on her marked hand.

“Then let the games begin,” Evelyn told him. 

“Yes, let’s,” he agreed, moseying away from Cassandra. “But we’ll skip the first round; the temptations of the weak because you are not weak. Plus, you are already rich where it counts, have more power in your little finger than most could ever dream of, and virgins… what fun are they? Especially when you’ve already been enjoying this fine specimen here.” Imshael gestured his direction. 

Cullen scowled; Evelyn actually, almost smiled.

“I appreciate you not wasting more of my time than necessary,” she said. 

“Of course, my dear, but now I must.” Imshael flicked the stub of his cigar off to the side and smoothed down his tie. “Just a small inconvenience — the offer I know you will reject.” 

“If you know I’ll refuse, then why bother?”

“Because you’ll be refusing  _ him _ something he desires as well,” Imshael replied, pointing at Cullen. “And I want him to hear you say it.” 

Without turning her head, Evelyn glanced Cullen’s direction, and he realized he probably put her in an awkward position by coming along. Had brought upon her more harm when he intended the opposite. Shame blazed through him, heating his face. 

“The Anchor,” Imshael said, smiling again. “I can… take it away; do what that healer in Darktown was unable to. He fears what it’s doing to you more than you do.”

Evelyn’s face flushed with anger and Cullen stiffened, feeling like he was radiating heat. Samson had warned him Imshael was no ordinary demon; that it was mutable, powerful, and  _ ancient —  _ one of the two remaining Forbidden Ones. But the subtle shift in approach was still alarming. 

“No matter what we fear or desire, we both know the Anchor is my burden to bear; consequences be damned. And you’re right, I refuse.”

“Oh, but he wouldn’t with the right —  _ encouragement,”  _ Imshael said seriously, taking a step toward Evelyn. “You remember what we’re capable of, don’t you, Rutherford?”

“I do,” Cullen said evenly despite the galvanizing fear arcing through him. 

He did remember. He would never forget. And Cullen knew he would break again if Imshael harmed her.

“This isn’t about him, it’s about me,” Evelyn gritted out, drawing Imshael’s attention back to her. “Get to the point of all this.” 

Imshael clapped his hands together, and for the first time, his smile looked sinister and foreboding. The double front doors creaked open, and two officers dragged a gaunt, ragged man down the steps. Evelyn shook her head, then shook it again when the familiar officer, Delrin, grabbed a fistful of unkempt brunet hair and forced the man’s head up. His eyes opened — a flash of emerald green — saw nothing, and slipped closed again. 

“No,” Evelyn said, the word barely a whisper. 

“Shortly before you ‘died,’ Amladaris tried to use him as a vessel for some well. Poor thing hasn’t been the same ever since.” 

“No,” she repeated, louder this time as Evelyn found her voice again. “This is some parlor trick, some illusion just to fuck with me.” Evelyn tore her gaze away from her brother, turned her head to look at Cullen; her watery eyes beseeching.

Cullen shook his head. This was not an illusion. He hadn’t known. And he was beyond forgiving for placing any amount of trust in Samson. He was a more merciless strategist than Cullen had given him credit for. Samson may not blame Evelyn for what happened to Calpernia, but he was exacting his revenge for her part in it nonetheless. 

“It’s a tragedy really,” Imshael tsked. “What he’s endured because of your…  _ choices.”  _ He took the gun out of his holster. 

Evelyn tried to spin away, but Imshael was faster than Cullen could have believed. He clamped her hand around the grip and yanked it up to press the barrel against her twin’s forehead. Cullen and Cassandra reached for their sidearms as a barrier washed over him. But before he had even moved his jacket aside, Imshael had twisted Evelyn’s free hand behind her back, brought the pistol up to her own temple and turned to face them. 

“Ah ah ah,” he hummed, looping his finger through the trigger on top of hers. “This is her choice to make, not yours. It’d be a mercy. He’s dead already.” 

“I don’t understand what you get out of this,” Evelyn said, voice cracking. 

“I walk away with the satisfaction of knowing you can be broken.” 

A single tear tracked down her cheek when out of the corner of his eye, Cullen saw Delrin raise his arm. The shots came rapidly. Blood erupted from the back of Imshael’s head, spraying over his dark skin like rain. Ezmond hit the paving stones like a dead weight, and Evelyn staggered forward, shock and agony slipping under a mask of fierce determination and  _ fear.  _

Cullen was moving toward her when a bullet grazed his shoulder, making him spin off course. He didn’t feel it. By the time he righted himself, Evelyn had thrust her hand out. Raw energy poured from the mark in her palm and into the officer. 

Green fire consumed him until there was nothing left but ash. 

Then all was still and quiet. 

Evelyn closed her hand, smothering the sickly green glow, and pressed it against her chest. The tattered remains of her leather glove hung awkwardly off her thumb and wrist. Suddenly, she let out a shaky breath and lifted the pistol again, pointing it at Delrin.

The crystals embedded into the flesh of the two remaining soldiers flared  _ red;  _ the song ringing in Cullen’s ears louder and clearer than when chaos had erupted around them. Delrin lifted his hands in a warding gesture, and it stopped. 

“You all need to go before the others arrive.”

Evelyn smiled sardonically and pulled back the hammer. 

“Your fight isn’t with us Trevelyan. It is done.” 

“This is far from done,” she snapped.

Pressing on the wound on his shoulder, Cullen stepped forward. “They’ll dead drop us the evidence we need, without it, this was all for nothing.” 

She laughed; it was a little hysterical sounding. Cullen exchanged a look with Cassandra. 

“Fine,” Evelyn said, pointedly refusing to look his direction as she threw the revolver down. “Put him in the car.”

It was over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to split the event up from the aftermath since there will be a clear division in pacing/mood, but that low-key cliffhanger tho...  
>   
> Also! Commissioned artwork from [Savbakk](https://savbakk.tumblr.com).  
> 


	14. Like a ship in the night, well you seen the light on the rock that is wrecking you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is lyrics from Bones Owens' [Make Me No King](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=32Ndd7HWxgM). ((This is another one of my Cullen songs.))

Hunched over the pedestal sink, Cullen brought his hands together, cupping the water flow to splash some on his face. His fingers ached more than they had in days, and his head was pounding again. It was expected after being around that much lyrium, red or not. The additional stress did not particularly help anything either. Sighing, he stood straight and toweled off his face. 

At length, he wetted the hand towel, wrung it out, and cleaned off his shoulder one last time. The wound was still painful, but not serious. It would scar, badly. The alternative had been bleeding all the way back to Skyhold until he could get stitched up properly, but Cullen had used elfroot to resolve far worse injuries in the past. Plus, in comparison to what the Trevelyan twins were dealing with, this was scarcely important.

Cullen dropped the washcloth on top of the other two and his ruined sweater and coat then dried his hands. The royal elfroot ointment Evelyn had simply left behind one day was almost gone. However, considering how often she took care of his hands, he was astounded it had lasted as long as it did. Using his pointer finger, he scraped the sides of the jar until he had enough to coat the wound on his shoulder, then rubbed what was leftover into his knuckles. 

Looking in the mirror, Cullen stretched the muscle. The area pulled, but the pink, tender skin did not break. Returning to the bedroom, he put on a white t-shirt and took the last half of the elfroot draught for good measure. The injured area itched and prickled while the remaining aches in his body lessened until they were nearly nonexistent. It didn’t do anything for his hands; it never did.

Putting his wristwatch back on, he checked the time. Upon their return, Cullen had hedged and given Leliana no clear answers, then abruptly told her he needed a minute. Almost thirty had passed. Cassandra or Dorian would have filled her in by now, but Leliana would still have questions, and this was not a conversation he was looking forward to having. 

Cullen picked up the items from the bathroom floor before he left. The towels went into the hamper, but his clothing was headed for the incinerator, a small brick-lined structure in the cellar, so he took them along. As the office door swung inward, a torn piece of notepaper fluttered to the floor. He frowned down at it a moment before stuffing it in his pocket. 

Downstairs he found Leliana exactly where he had left her in the hall just outside of Abby’s study. Except now she only appeared slightly distressed instead of angry, dangerously so. 

“Cullen,” she said. “I apologize for bombarding you. It was only because, after all this time, I never thought… How is she? How are  _ you?” _

He shook his head, brow furrowing. “She isn’t in there?” 

Instantly, her grey eyes darted to the door. But then they slid away. She frowned thoughtfully at him. 

“In her place, would you be able to look at him?” 

“Maker, no,” Cullen said, and closed his eyes, imagining Mia. How her skin was paler than his, like their mother’s. Her warm brown eyes and the riot of blonde curls cascading down her back. He imagined finding her alive, but not. “I should have known that was why Evelyn made us stop so she could switch vehicles.”

Her gaze turned sympathetic. “You thought it was because of you?”

Cullen sat on the bench and set the items folded over his arm onto the hardwood floor. “Of course I did.”

Leliana nodded and settled herself next to him a respectful distance away. She crossed her ankles. 

“I am sure you were part of it, but not in the way you think. You know how she is.”

Bracing elbows on knees, Cullen scrubbed his hands down his face. It had been terrifying to have those walls he had built up around himself for so many years suddenly crumble from her presence alone. Then the night Evelyn had said she cared for him, her expression had been so open as her eyes traveled over his face. Cullen wished she hadn’t feared his rejection, but he had forgotten how to love, and it hurt realizing she had forgotten how to be loved. Even by herself. 

Sitting straight, he allowed his head to fall back against the wall. “I will go check on her once we get some sort of update on her brother’s condition.” 

“Honestly, the longer they are in there, the better I feel about his chances.” 

”He’ll never be the same.” 

“None of us will be the same,” Leliana replied.

“I know,” Cullen said, thinking of Evelyn. 

“Then I’ll ask again, how are you?” 

Cullen lifted his head from the wall and gave her a bland look. 

Her lips puckered. “That good?”

Rubbing his palms together, Cullen glanced down. “I… miscalculated, but she’s the one that paid the price for it. Then I told her it would all be for nothing if we didn’t get the evidence we needed. As if getting him back was meaningless or her desire for revenge misplaced.”

Leliana’s expression turned hard, just for a moment. “You think Samson will follow through?”

“I do. They didn’t have to intervene when—“ Cullen ground his teeth together momentarily. “The opportunity… presented itself.”

She hummed. “Next time, don’t let him walk away.”

“I wasn’t planning on it.”

“Good.” A pause, then Leliana added. “Given the extent of Amladaris’ methods, I think we should consider making permanent arrangements for your family.”

Cullen wished they could go home. That everything would be alright. That he hadn’t burdened them further as he seemed to be doing to everyone he cared for lately. But Cullen knew they would understand. The day after his meeting with Samson, he had written each of them apologizing for the inconvenience and thoroughly explaining the situation, including his relationship with Evelyn. They seemed more concerned about the latter than the former, which was mildly infuriating, but it was also somewhat of a relief. They continued to treat Cullen as if he had never carved them out of his life; as if Kinloch didn’t fundamentally change  _ who _ he was. 

Like how Suledin was sure to change Evelyn. 

“Is there an issue with using the safehouses?”

“No, but since we can’t begin to predict how long this will go on, it wouldn’t hurt to ask them their opinion on the matter. If they would rather leave Ferelden, for example, or at least start over in a new city with a new name,” Leliana suggested. 

“I don’t want them involved,” he insisted.

“Then tell them that when you write, though Mia seems the sort to do as she pleases.”

“Which you would be all too eager to take advantage of,” Cullen said dryly.

“Perhaps, though not in the way you mean,” Leliana said, smiling. How she managed to make the curve of her mouth both perfectly innocent and damnably telling, he would never understand.

He’d been with the Resistance for months; written to Mia countless times, he would have _known._ But maybe, just maybe, his sister was just as good at keeping secrets as Leliana. Cullen stared at her, and stood up, then waved his arm off to the side. 

“You can not be serious.”

“Would you have an objection if I was?” she asked, standing as well. 

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck, exhaling as the wound twinged. “No,” he said. For years, Leliana had kept his family safe while he had pretended they didn’t exist. In all honesty, there was probably no one better. 

“How long—“ But then the door to Abby’s study opened, and Cullen felt a bolt of panic. 

Gaze shifting between him and Leliana, Dorian frowned. He stayed in the threshold for several more seconds, then turned back into the room. 

“Abigail,” he called albeit quietly. “I hate to ask, but could you come update these two so I can go get everything?”

Cullen listened, trying to hear the reply, but the voices coming from inside the room were too low. Then there was a sharp, full-bodied laugh from Rylen that quickly cut off. At that, Dorian rolled his eyes and stepped out of the room, patting Cullen on the arm as he passed by. 

“You two could have come in, you know,” Abby said, appearing in the doorway. 

“The door was closed,” Cullen replied stupidly. 

“Doors open,” she deadpanned and there followed another bark of laughter from inside the room. 

“There was little either of us could do to help, and we didn’t want to get in the way,” Leliana said.

Cullen inclined his head. It was true enough; neither of them knew Ezmond Trevelyan and beyond fetching things for the mages, what could they have done?

“He doesn’t like the light,” Abby said suddenly. “And he’s not speaking, but beyond being severely malnourished, he is… okay.”

Leliana’s voice was steel sharp when she said: “Are there any signs of torture?” 

“Not physically at least,” Abby muttered, shaking her head. “Cole keeps saying it’s too loud, that he misses the quiet, but I don’t keep any lyrium in there, and he doesn’t seem to have any issue with us talking, so I’m not sure what Cole means.”

Cullen cleared his throat. “Imshael said Amladaris tried to use him as a vessel for some well, and that he hasn’t been the same since.”

Leliana turned her head aside, a distant expression on her face. “I will send an agent to consult with Morrigan then.”

“You would trust her with this?” 

She gave him a bitter smile. “Morrigan has always been self-serving, but she has no desire to see us fail. Right now to succeed, we need to do what we can for Ezmond.”

Cullen nodded, knowing what Leliana was really saying. “I assume he’s sleeping?” 

“Bathing. He’s weak, but Dante won’t leave his side, so he’ll be fine,” Abby said, then paused as she shifted her weight. “Then hopefully some food before passing out. I can’t say for sure, but I think he was treated— I mean, not great but alright up until he was moved to Suledin.”

“I imagine he was imprisoned at the Citadel until Evelyn’s cover was neutralized,” he ventured. The building itself was impenetrable, and just having eyes and ears in Denerim was unfeasible for the Resistance. Too much risk, minimal payoff. 

“I’m sure, but we won’t be asking,” Dorian said, coming back down the hall with an armful of clothes, a box of saltine crackers, and a bowl of broth.

“Of course not,” Cullen agreed, cheeks heating. “I was merely—“

“It’s adorable how quickly you get flustered when you think you’ve offended,” Dorian said, smirking as Abby grabbed the box of saltines on his way past her. 

Sighing, Cullen stooped down to collect the items for the incinerator. “Is he staying here?” 

Dorian had left the door wide open, and when Cullen stood straight, Rylen tipped his chin from where he was leaning against the far wall. The room was where Abby spent her time crafting most of the Resistance’s medical draughts, but it also had a full restroom and all the necessary accommodations for the rare emergency. 

“That’s up to him,” Abby said with a shrug before fishing out a cracker. “I’m sure we’ll assign him a room up on the second floor with everyone else, but with the stairs, that might not be best right now.”

“Josephine is already preparing one,” Leliana said. “For whenever he is ready.”

Chewing on a cracker, Abby nodded then her mouth pulled into a half-smile as Rylen placed his hands on her shoulders.

“How is Evelyn?” 

“I don’t know,” Cullen admitted, feeling a pang of guilt as he glanced at his watch. She’d been alone now for nearly an hour. 

“Here,” Leliana said, holding her arms out. “I’ll take care of that. You go.”

“Thank you,” Cullen replied automatically.

After accepting the clothing, Leliana began walking away, and he could do nothing but follow after her. Frowning at the concern on Rylen’s face as if he couldn’t quite believe Cullen wouldn’t have checked on Evelyn before now. 

Ignoring the sudden tightness in his chest was impossible. However much or little Evelyn returned the depth of his affections before, there was not much hope it remained untarnished after today. 

Cullen felt ill. 

“Thank you,” he repeated when they reached the staircase. “For everything, and for taking that downstairs for me.”

She gave him an almost imperceptible nod. “You’re good for her. It’s about time you stop thinking otherwise.” 

He could only shake his head, even as Leliana kept right on walking. After a moment, Cullen rolled his injured shoulder, it was feeling a bit stiff, then made his way to Evelyn’s suite. 

The door was closed but unlocked. The curtains were drawn in the office and bedroom making the areas eerily dark. There was also a certain electric charge in the air not unlike the warning of an oncoming storm. Whether it was just the sense of foreboding that came with facing Evelyn after what he had put her through or the literal emotion roiling off the mage, it would not take long to find out.

He didn’t know what to expect when he found her, but he had not anticipated that she would merely be in the bath, drinking. Here, the air felt hazy and low. 

Oppressive. 

The lighting was weak, and colors were muted from the grey, overcast sky. Her clothing was piled on the floor beside the tub, and his gaze was drawn to the blood splatter on her sweater. Beside it was the decanter. The liquor didn’t appear much lower than he recalled, but he also didn’t know if she had eaten at all that day. 

Cullen became aware that he was clutching the unread scrap of paper in his pocket in a death grip and that he was holding his breath. He exhaled, audibly. At that, she blinked owlishly at him, then her mouth turned down. 

“Why are you here?” 

“You know why I’m here,” he managed. 

Evelyn laughed; eyes watering as she brought the glass up to her lips. She emptied nearly half of the amber liquid in one pull. 

“I really don’t. This,” she said waving her hand between them, “whatever this is. It wasn’t always easy before and after—“ That slightly hysterical giggle bubbled up her throat again. Briefly, she pressed her fingers to her lips, then cleared her throat. 

“Ev,” he croaked, not allowing himself to feel anything like hope and reminding himself he never did deserve her in the first place. “About what happened, I—”

“Nope,” she said with a single turn of her head. “It wasn’t your fault, and the very  _ last _ thing I want to hear right now is you apologize. They didn’t need my brother to break me. I knew that, and I still let you come along. Let them  _ use _ you all because I wanted you close.”

Cullen went very still and took a slow breath, having been unprepared to hear anything like that come from her. He tried to think of what to say, but all he could think of was what he wasn’t ready to say. Words that he didn’t think he’d ever be able to say. 

Evelyn was silent too, then she looked up at him and said, “I love you, you know that right?” 

“What?” Cullen said, feeling breathless. 

She looked away. “Do you think you can pretend today never happened? That I never said that? Maybe look at me like you used to instead of like you are?”

Cullen’s heart was beating too fast, and it felt like he had forgotten how to breathe. But he forced himself to step into the room and kneel by the edge of the tub. Evelyn seemed to fold in on herself then; hugging her knees closer and more pointedly avoiding his gaze. Cullen could only see the curve of her cheekbone and the corner of her eye.

“Evelyn, look at me,” he said, voice strangely hoarse. He reached out to pluck the glass from her fingers. Heart seizing at how cold she felt despite the steam rising from the water. 

“Can you please just… go?”

His hand curled around her arm even as the request rocked through him like a physical blow. “I will if that’s what you really want,” he said. “But I need you to know I just wasn’t strong enough to tell you when I realized how I felt. I didn’t want to lose you. I still don’t.”

After a moment, Evelyn turned her face his direction and rested her cheek on her knees. But didn’t look at him. 

“You probably will. I don’t expect to survive.”

Evil was everywhere in the world. It seemed to have always been part of his life, part of his job, and Mia had once told him to find some good and never let it go. He had found his good. 

“I need you to,” Cullen said shakily as desperation flooded him. 

Her eyes flicked up then, finally meeting his. “I want to.”

He swallowed. “We’ll figure this out, okay?”

”Okay,” she said, and though her smile was small, just barely a quirk of her lips, it was still a beautiful thing. 

“Will you get out for me? Let me take care of you for once?”

“If you insist.”

“I do,” Cullen said, standing. 

Evelyn frowned but said nothing as she accepted his hand to help her from the water. Once she was toweled off and dressed in leggings, knee-high, wool socks, and a burgundy sweatshirt, he stepped close. Evelyn looked up at him, and he hooked a finger under her chin to keep their gazes locked.

“I love you,” he said, then leaned down to brush their lips together. Cullen felt her breath shudder out across his mouth. 

“I was starting to think I’d never hear you say that,” she murmured, smoothing her hands down his front. 

He wanted to lean back into her, roll one kiss into another, but now wasn’t the time. Evelyn was still cold, perhaps ill, and she needed to sober up and rest. 

Right now, all that mattered was that it wasn’t over. It was only beginning. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) I'm sure the Leliana/Mia ship came out of left field for most of you, so for anyone curious, I have a modern w/magic ~~smut/fluff fest~~ AU where I shipped these two as a way to still call ex-military, CEO Leliana 'sister.' Then I fell in love with this tiny ship so hard I had to have it in here.  (Black Heart)
> 
> 2) Things I googled for this chapter: canned soup, bullet grazes (can't unsee btw), hoodies, fleece (wasn't patented until 1979), malnutrition, & incinerators. *face palm*


	15. There are gonna be days when you don't know what we're doing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is lyrics from David Rameriz's [The Bad Days](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V_FkhCVg-1s). ((I listened to this song on repeat when I had a block in this fic. The mood, not so much the exact lyrics was what I was going for.))
> 
> OK. I was going to start with an apology for how long this update took, but THEN! DJAF;LSKDJ LOOK, LOOK AT THIS THING [VOIDTAKEYOU](http://voidtakeyou.tumblr.com/) MADE:  
> 
> 
> *dies*  
> *comes back to life*
> 
> ANYWAY! Outside of holiday chaos this update took forever because I was handling the aftermath of a SIGNIFICANT event for my OC, establishing Ezmond's character in crazy new parameters for me, and worldbuilding past/present/future from Cullen's POV and it was fecking **hard**. Because of that, if anything is unclear, please ask or drop me an anon on tumblr. I am FAR past the point of feeling comfortable that everyone is following along ok.

Days passed.

Snow fell.

And the Trevelyan twins got better.

Of course, some days were a step in the wrong direction, for them both, because when Ezmond struggled, so did Evelyn. Cullen would never forget the first time Ezmond had laid eyes upon her; the desperate, frightened look that came over him, nor the tears glimmering in Evelyn’s eyes after he had fled. Cullen understood what was happening in Ezmond’s mind, but that made it no less painful to witness, knowing first hand what it could do to them.

What it did do to them.

Old wounds reopened. New ones formed. Irreparable damage was done. However, unlike how Cullen had dealt with his aftermath, Ezmond did not seem willing to give up. Whether five minutes or three hours, every day he spent time with Evelyn. Shared silence with her while all the things neither could voice lingered above them.

No one pressured them to do more, and no one pried; not even Cole. At first, the spirit had been agitated and jumpy as if anticipating… something, but now he merely tilted his head on occasion, assessing. This movement on Cullen’s peripheral was what drew his attention away from the book he was reading. Cole gazed at the back of Evelyn’s head, who was, in turn, staring at the Satinalia tree.

She sat on the floor a short distance in front of Cullen’s place on the sofa. Beside Evelyn was her dinner. A simple meal of fruit, cheese, and cured meat. She had eaten about half of it. When Evelyn felt Cullen’s focus upon her, her head turned his direction. The tree’s deep green was a perfect match to her eyes. Smiling, she lowered those beautiful pools, and her cheeks flushed pink. 

Affection warmed him through, and Cullen looked down at his book again. It was the one Evelyn had given him, and he treasured it almost as much as he treasured her. He slid a scrap of paper from its temporary place at the back of the book and set it between the pages. It was the hastily written note Cole had crammed into his door jamb after Suledin.

> _ You make it better. _

“Something on your mind?”

“Everything,” Evelyn answered without much hesitation.

Admittedly, his mind had been equally occupied as of late. He loved Evelyn with all his heart, and there was a sense of peace he obtained from learning she felt the same. But there were also so many factors of her predicament entirely out of their control. Cullen tried to not let himself dwell on that, but it was easier said than done.

“Isn’t that about par for the course for you?” 

The unfamiliar voice was something more a rasp, and Cullen had no clue how Evelyn handled the unexpected quip because he couldn’t pull his eyes away from the source. The look on Ezmond’s face was as vague as it always was, but there was the faintest lift to one side of his mouth. 

At some point, she had stood up. Cullen did not even realize it until she was already talking. 

“For fuck’s sake Ez. It’s been years, and that is the first thing out of your mouth?” Evelyn said with a hint of a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. Even Dante had perked up from his place on the floor near the other sofa, the flames shining in his citrine eyes as he emitted a short, low  _ woof. _

Ezmond chucked, though it was short lived because it morphed into a coughing fit. Thankfully, it did not last long. Clearing his throat, he moved the crossword puzzle aside to extend out a hand, letting Dante nuzzle him a moment before pulling the quilt tighter around himself. The slightly blue cast under his eyes remained as did the bony hollows of his cheeks, but Ezmond’s close-cropped beard was perfectly trimmed, and his bright eyes were lively and intelligent. 

“I wanted to make it memorable,” he said, his voice clearer than it had been before.

“Yeah, well, it wouldn’t have taken much,” Evelyn replied with a sniff. 

All at once discomfort and regret passed over her brother’s face as he frowned. “I’m sorry sis. I—“

“Don’t be sorry,” she said, starting forward but immediately stopping because Ezmond had tensed, gripping the quilt with white-knuckled fists. 

The pair avoided eye contact as a blanket of silence fell over the room. Cullen didn’t want to think about the first time he had spoken to Mia after Kinloch, but he did. How brutal the exchange had been; the pain in her eyes and the relief that overcame him when she had finally left. After placing his book on the side table, Cullen leaned forward and brushed against Evelyn; just a soft touch of his fingers on the back of her hand. 

“Come here,” Cullen said, cheeks heating. It was instinctively done and sincerely meant, but it was not the kind of thing he normally did when they weren’t alone. 

As Evelyn sat beside him, her expression shifted into something pensive. He placed a hand on her thigh and squeezed in what Cullen hoped was reassurance. Evelyn glanced over at him, lips quirking, and loosely wrapped her hand around his. While all this transpired, Cullen was acutely aware of her brother’s watchful stare.

“So, you two, how long has that been a thing?” 

“Not very long,” Evelyn said.

“I’ve only been with the Resistance since August,” Cullen added in explanation as his face grew hotter. His reputation always preceded him, and until that very moment, he never had much of a reason to care. He was intensely aware of how unfavorable it was, and Cullen felt uneasy when considering what Ezmond might think about his relationship with Evelyn. Especially given that her brother had immersed himself in the wealth of information available in the War Room as soon as he was able.

Scribbled half-questions were often left in a notepad on the central table with painstaking shakiness. As much as Cullen didn’t want to risk further damaging his character, he still checked a few times a day and hunted down the corresponding files where the answers could be found; no matter the subject. At least the information was impartial even if Cullen had not been. 

“I know. I’m sorry for asking,” Ezmond said, placing his hands in his lap and looking down at them. Even from his distance, Cullen could see them shaking. “I just— I have no idea what to say.” 

“Ez, stop apologizing. It’s fine—”

“It’s not fine, none of this is, but it’s not as bad as I thought. Just us is better than just me.” His smile seeming nervous as he spoke. “And I appreciate that you all listened to General Samson. More than I can say. I didn’t believe him when he said he was getting me out. I couldn’t. I mean— things changed after they thought you’d died but before that— they put me through more withdrawal episodes than I could count to try to make me talk. Would give me a dose every once in a while just to keep them sharp, and then the goddamned well; not to mention the food was  _ terrible.”  _

Evelyn laughed; it sounded more than a little watery. “Maker forbid.”

“I never thought I’d be glad to see stress baking is still a thing,” Ezmond replied.

“I think I can ease up on that a little now.”

Then the twins stared at each other for a long moment, both of their eyes crinkling at the corners in the same way. Cullen vaguely contemplated this was how things could have gone for him had he allowed it; acknowledged in a detached kind of way that was why his friends and family seemed content to pick up where they had left off years ago.

“Maybe I’ll finally get around to putting the lights on the tree,” Evelyn added, looking over at it. The evergreen stood a safe distance away from the crackling fire. Blackwall and Bull had set it up a couple of weeks ago now, and Dorian had taken the time to preserve it, but that was as far as anyone had gotten. 

“We still don’t have any,” Cullen made himself say, and then grimaced. He had forgotten to buy some while in Orlais on Resistance business recently. Remembering to get personal necessities had been difficult enough as he agonized over finding the perfect Satinalia gift for Evelyn.

“You know she’s a mage, right?” Ezmond deadpanned. 

“How is that relevant?” Cullen asked, unable to stop the glance Evelyn’s direction. Thus far, her brother had not seemed mistrustful nor hostile toward him, but he couldn’t determine if that had been innocent sarcasm or if Ezmond was indirectly voicing his disapproval. 

The corner of Evelyn’s mouth was pulled up into a wry smile, and she didn’t seem to take notice of Cullen’s nervousness. But why would she? He was doing everything possible to make sure he did not give into his usual tells. 

“It isn’t. I imagine most mages still use string lights,” Evelyn said.

“How droll,” Ezmond replied, yawning. 

“Don’t worry. This will be a proper Satinalia tree.” 

“I’m not worried; just fucking tired.”

The dark window gave Cullen a reflection of the brightly lit den. He checked his wristwatch: 19:10. It was not very late, but the withdrawals he dealt with would be child’s play in comparison after what Ezmond had been put through.

“I need to head on up,” Cullen remarked passively. The most recent batch of intel should be ready along with the meeting summary from Council earlier that day.

“I think at this point I’d need to be bridal carried,” Ezmond said as annoyance passed over his face; then his mouth quirked. “And as fun as that sounds, I think I’ll pass.”

Cullen smiled because he’d been expecting the refusal even if it was not worded anything like he had anticipated. Now that the deadlock between the twins had been broken and loose parameters established, his presence was probably more of a hindrance than anything. His hand momentarily tightened on Evelyn’s thigh before removing it. 

“Understandable,” he said. 

Evelyn frowned, following Cullen's movements as he stood. “I won’t be far behind you.” 

“Should I come across anything that needs your attention, I’ll let you know, but otherwise, take your time,” Cullen said, retrieving his book. 

“Okay,” she said, offering him a small, forced smile. 

He felt a faint lump in his throat at the thought of leaving when she still preferred having him nearby for support. But Cullen wouldn’t be very far either. The next thing he knew, his hand was raised hovering near her face, unsure of what was appropriate. 

“If you’re finished with your plate, I’ll take it with me,” he said, gently grazing the side of his thumb down her cheek.

“I am,” she said, then looked away for a moment toward the fireplace. “Thank you, Cullen.” 

“Any time, Ev,” he breathed. 

“Don’t work too hard, Commander,” Ezmond said.

Cullen turned to him warily but found only sincerity in the man’s expression. “Goodnight, Captain,” he replied. Then, reluctantly, Cullen scooped up her plate, took one last lingering look at Evelyn, and left. 

At some point, Cole had disappeared from his perch on the back table which reminded Cullen everything would be fine. Still, he couldn’t shake the anxiety he felt. It was arrogant to think Ezmond was overly concerned, but Cullen  _ needed _ this to work. 

For the time being, a cigarette and a distraction would get him by.

_______________________________________________________________________________

Within the hour, Cullen was in bed, but not to sleep. Shoes off yet fully dressed, he was on his fourth cigarette with a small, semi-disorganized stack of papers next to him. Until now most of his time had been spent processing intel and determining where their efforts would best be applied. His world post-Suledin, however, was considerably more black and white.

Interference in Nevarra, Antiva, and Starkhaven had been tapering off, but now it had suspended completely. Known Venatori were no longer even trying to keep up pretenses. In fact, higher ranking agents had been re-assigned to official diplomatic rolls with the goal of repairing relations. The move had left the nations’ leadership, and Josephine, at a loss how to handle this specific turn of events other than to play along. Anything else had the potential of leading to open warfare; a situation no one wanted to risk given Amladaris’ proclivity to force Red upon the unsuspecting as Stannard had done. 

Of course, it had occurred to Cullen that this was only a ruse, an attempt to lead the remaining free world into a false sense of security. But what it all boiled down to was Amladaris’ confidence Orlais would fall. It was no secret lines of communication had been opened between the Resistance, the Empress, and Gaspard. Amladaris was merely content to let them set the stage while he prepared the rest of the theater to his liking. The one thing up in the air was his plan for Evelyn. 

It was counterintuitive to believe Amladaris was no longer concerned with the threat she posed. Especially since according to Solas, restoring the Orb to full power was still his primary focus. Cullen could only assume, whatever Amladaris’ endgame for Orlais was, Evelyn would be directly involved.

And thus so would Cullen of his own discretion.

He was not given much longer to think on this because only Evelyn would come in without knocking and lock the deadbolt behind her. A moment later, she appeared in the bedroom doorway. The sleeves to her heather grey Ostwick University hoodie were pushed up, and in her hands, a plate of bûche de Satïna and two forks. One corner of her mouth lifted lazily when she saw him.

“To work, huh?”

Cullen sat up and swung his legs out of bed. “I wish,” he grumbled, stubbing out his cigarette. “I hate how this continues to develop.”

“At least it all finally seems to be coming to a head.” She set the forks on the plate to trade it out for the crystal ashtray on the nightstand. It was the only one in his suite, and it had never left his desk until tonight. Something about her returning the ashtray to where they belonged shamed him. 

When she came back into the room, Cullen couldn’t help but avert his gaze and press his fingers into the back of his neck. Of course, Evelyn came near and placed her hands on his shoulders, grip firming as she stepped even closer. He hadn’t felt particularly tight, but Evelyn immediately honed in on a spot that proved him wrong. Like when she worked on his hands, it felt achingly good and bad at the same time. 

Cullen absently stroked at Evelyn’s thigh through her leggings. “Thank you.”

“Why are you really so tense?” Evelyn asked.

Undoing his tie, he took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. The simple fact she had come in, instantly smiling at him, should have soothed him, but it didn’t. 

“I’m not sure exactly. How did it go with your brother?”

“Better than it would have if the War Room didn’t exist.”

“That’s good,” Cullen replied because it was.

“Look at me,” Evelyn said, her voice gentle as she smoothed her hands across his shoulders.

He complied and was gifted a kiss. It was soft at first. Hesitant even. But soon her lips began to move over his in  _ that way  _ that let him know she wanted him. And, Maker, Cullen wanted her too. They hadn’t been together since before Suledin, and he had missed the unbelievable heat of her, the feel of her fingers in his hair in the throes of passion. 

He had missed  _ her.  _

His toes curled into the plush carpet as her teeth pulled at his lower lip. Cullen moaned against her mouth and slipped his hands under her sweatshirt to move them up the span of her back. Then he grabbed on and clung when her nails scratched across his scalp. 

But this wasn’t quite right. 

“Ev,” he managed and slid his hands back down to her hips as she straddled his thighs. Her mouth moved to brush against his ear; her hands to his shirt buttons. 

“Tell me what you want, Cullen.”

“I want you. Maker, do I want you.” Already his breathing was uneven, and he abruptly pulled back; one hand fisting gently into her hair to hold her in place. Her face was flushed, and it darkened with a small gasp. His gaze was automatically drawn to her parted lips. He swallowed.

“But you and I, we’re past pretending everything is fine, aren’t we?” Cullen asked, untangling his fingers and smoothing them over her hair. 

Evelyn frowned. “I don’t know, are we?” 

“I wish I had done this different,” he murmured, as his eyes were drawn once more to her mouth where she was chewing on the inside of her bottom lip. “Courted you the right way. Been someone you could have confided in instead of only offering you a distraction.”

“This was always more than a damn distraction to me,” she said, climbing off his lap. 

Cullen let her go, instantly missing the feel of her weight settled on top of him. “It was the same for me, and that is all I meant by that.” 

Back to him, Evelyn rubbed her hands down her face and sighed. A sound of disappointment. Cullen knew her well enough to know she was not disappointed with him, but herself. She took a deep breath and turned back around. 

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gotten so defensive.” 

“It’s alright, love,” he said, beckoning. Evelyn placed her hand in his, allowing him to pull her close again. Cullen embraced her fully and rested his cheek against her chest where he could hear her heart beating. It was a tad elevated. But she was warm and there with him, turning back the days that have passed where she was cold and focused inward or backward.

“The cake gave me away, didn’t it?”

“It did,” Cullen said quietly. She had baked it the night before, and when he had put up her plate earlier, it was still in the refrigerator unfinished. So not only had Evelyn frosted the cake before coming up, but she had also made a small mistletoe decoration for this slice. “I’ve been really worried about you.” 

“You don’t ever have to worry about me.”

“I deserve that,” Cullen said, smirking up at her. 

“No, you don’t.” She smiled a little as she fidgeted with the collar of his shirt. “You’ve been great, and I’ve been… I don’t know. Not great.”

“No one expects you to be.”

“You say that like it’s supposed to make this easier,” Evelyn replied, their fingers temporarily tangling together as she stepped around him to climb into bed. Cullen gathered up the papers and set them onto the floor before stretching out next to her; semi-propping himself up with a pillow stuffed under his arm. 

“I thought Ez was one of them and I came to terms with that. Like Imshael said, he was dead already,” she told him, staring up at the ceiling. “And now I look at him and think it’s still true, he just isn’t dead  _ yet.” _

“You know better than most how lyrium, or the lack thereof, affects the body,” Cullen reminded. “What he’s dealing with now is not detox; it’s stress. The worst of it is long past.” 

“The episodes could still kill him; they could still kill you,” she murmured, rolling onto her side to rest her forehead against his chest. 

Cullen couldn’t reassure Evelyn in this as much as he wanted to, so he only pulled her closer to tuck her tighter against him. It would always be a possibility even if it were a remote one at this point. And whether quitting added or took away from their lifespans altogether was another matter entirely. Only time would tell.

Evelyn uprooted her face from where it was buried against him. “After you left, we talked, but not for very long. I could tell he was exhausted and when I tried to excuse myself so he could rest, he brought up Kirkwall. I don’t know how it’d be possible, but Cullen, I think was him.”

Once she had joined the Venatori, her ability to legally enter Ferelden had been revoked. To keep General Trevelyan untarnished by this, she was publicly disowned, and Ezmond had relayed information in secret between father and daughter. Tensions had eased between Ferelden and Tevinter thanks to this arrangement. Until the Breach opened. 

“Based on what little he said in my presence, if Ezmond gave over any information on you, I doubt he was in the right state of mind when it happened,” Cullen said carefully.

“No; after a certain point he didn’t know anything,” she insisted. “The tip we got about the Orb came last minute from Leliana. Some anonymous person had contacted the Chantry saying an ‘artifact of concern’ had landed in their possession and that they were going to hand it over. I just happened to be closest, so she got me clearance into Velhring’s secure facility. I was only there to verify it was the one we’d been trying to track down, but what I walked into— I couldn’t even— I’m sorry. You know all of this, I’m not sure why I’m rambling on about it.”

“It’s fine, Ev,” he murmured, fingers massaging the back of Evelyn’s neck in slow, consistent motions. “Explain it however you need to.”

“We were based out of Redcliffe until we closed the Breach. By the time we relocated to Kirkwall, Ez and my father had been gone for months, and I had let them go thinking that I had failed; that I had died trying.” She laughed then, the sound fracturing. “Why did I do that?”

From what Cassandra had told Cullen, Evelyn had been practically dead until Hawke managed to track down his friend. “You did what anyone would have done in that position; you tried to protect your family.”

Looking up at him Evelyn smirked. “When did you become the voice of reason?”

“Let’s not get carried away now,” he said and pressed a quick kiss to her temple. 

“I’m glad you weren’t with us for any of that.”

”I can’t say the same.”

Evelyn picked at a button on his shirt. “What bothered me about what my brother said was: ‘Kirkwall has always been a city of rebellion; it’s beholden to no one. He came for vengeance, but justice prevailed, and the twins still stand.’”

“I do not understand how that could give you any suspicion,” Cullen admitted, the words leaving him slowly as he puzzled over what he was missing. Starkhaven and Ansburg were the last free city-states in the Marches, but Kirkwall remained in open rebellion. While the city’s symbols, the Twins of Kirkwall with their chains permanently raised and the hollowed, charred remains of the Gallows, had changed when it fell, their message had not. 

“His phrasing touches too close to the truth. Our files on Kirkwall are limited for a reason. We all survived it. There was no need to make a record outside of the names of those we had lost. But that healer from Darktown, Anders, that’s saved me twice now, a long time ago, he made a deal with a Spirit of Justice.”

“He’s an abomination,” Cullen said, low and urgent; fear trickling down his spine in an involuntary shiver. 

“He is,” Evelyn echoed, frowning to herself. “Anders admits his anger has warped Justice into a force of Vengeance, and that he struggles to maintain control. He didn’t come to the Gallows to help us, he came to destroy it; to take out Amladaris’ forces.” 

“I see,” Cullen said when he couldn’t come up with anything else to say. 

“Are you ok?”

Some part of him wondered — would always wonder — if there would ever come a day where her luck ran out. But Cullen didn’t want to question it, and he certainly didn’t want to change it.

“I am,” he decided. “We are here, together, and that’s all that matters.”

“I love you,” she murmured, and there followed a fractional  _ shift _ in the air. An orb of muted magelight, about the size of a pea, manifested between her finger and thumb. 

“I love you too,” he said, hand automatically lifting from her neck; curious about how the spell was put together. It appeared to contain liquid silver or perhaps smoke. Cullen thought about the moons, the stars, and how a little light can make the darkness bearable.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) I am taking _some_ liberties with the Well of Sorrows. I know it’s “the collective knowledge and way of life of the ancient elves,” but how events unfold in DAI seem a little Cole/deus ex machina ish.
> 
> 2) The Temple of Sacred Ashes is roughly located in the Bannorn of Velhring, so that's where that name came from. 
> 
> 3) For anyone who wants to continue enjoying the extent of my art addiction, here are two pieces that feature Ez: [a tarot card from Yuhime](https://ladymdc.tumblr.com/post/181624002962/yuhimebarbara-ezmond-trevelayn-card-for) **and** [a kofi sketch from funayuurei](https://ladymdc.tumblr.com/post/181221136817/i-snagged-a-couple-of-kofi-commissions-from-the).


	16. Started out as just fun and games, but now we plays for keeps.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title is lyrics from Eric Tessmer's Good So Bad. ((This is... SURPRISE another one of my Cullen songs))

It had taken Evelyn the better part of a day to put lights on the tree because Dorian had declared his assistance would only ‘take away from the overall aesthetic.’ While this excuse had made Cullen roll his eyes at the time, in the end, he decided the man was right. Not that Cullen had voiced it aloud. 

Magelight adapted the hallmarks of the element that most called to a mage. For Dorian, it was Fire, giving the spell a warm, golden tint. Evelyn favored Air magics which imbued hers with the soft, silvery hue of muted Lightning. There had to be a hundred or so miniature orbs, and the effect it created—

A hand, small and warm and  _ unexpected,  _ settled onto his thigh high up, and Cullen jumped. 

“Shh— Shit, Cullen,” Evelyn muttered, the sound a half-giggle.

He wanted to swat her hand away, but Cullen only turned his head to glare at her. 

Taking a drink, Evelyn raised her brow. 

“You alright, Curly?”

His heart was hammering, and Cullen felt a bit ill. “Perfect.”

“I told you: never bet an Antivan, Commander.”

“I’ll bet against you,” Ezmond said, drawing Cullen’s attention away from the hole he was now burning into the table. “I think I have enough left to at least win back his skivvies.”

Josephine scrutinized Ezmond’s measly stack of coins a moment before she continued dealing. “No, I don’t think you do.”

“Evelyn’s hand has been under the table since they came off! Take pity on me.”

Immediately, it left Cullen’s thigh to flick a little orb of magelight across the table. She was very adept at unchaining her mana and casting almost simultaneously, leaving her aura nearly indiscernible until it was too late. It had startled Cullen the first time Evelyn had done it in his presence, but now that he was familiar with the twin’s little game, he saw it coming. The spell failed, as it usually did, breaking apart in a tiny shower of sparks when it made contact with Ezmond’s barrier, and her brother laughed. 

“You’ll have to do better than that little sister.” 

“You’re like ten minutes older than me!”

“No, I mean your size; I had forgotten how tiny you are. Cullen, tell her how tiny she is.”

Cullen felt himself breathing out an involuntary huff of amusement at the same time another pea-sized light shot across the table. This time it found a home in her brother’s unruly curls.

“Aye, she may be, but there’s nothing wrong with having a wee, bonny lass at your side,” Rylen put in, bumping into Abby and making her sway a little. With a wry smile, she looked at him sidelong and lifted another saltine to her mouth.

“I don’t know,” Ezmond hummed, fishing out the light from his hair. The spell was put together similarly to the one Evelyn used to keep her elfroot hydrated during transit. It made her magelight tangible, and Cullen had been fascinated when he had realized. 

“I think I’d rather have someone that can kick my ass at my side,” Ezmond continued. 

“That would still be me, considering,” Evelyn replied, and Ezmond zinged the orb back her direction.

“Rude,” Ezmond said, mock-glaring at Cullen when the spell broke apart at his behest. 

“Very,” Cassandra agreed, firmly, and lifted her cards to rest on their edge where she could only see the top one. “He is holding his own very well — considering.” 

“I always knew you liked me,” Ezmond said then winked at her. 

Cassandra tapped the cards against the table and let out an exasperated sound a second before her expression dissolved into a small smile. “I don’t,” she said, shaking her head.

“Could have fooled—“

Evelyn’s hand returned to Cullen’s thigh then. Her fingers curling in, nails lightly scratching across his skin, and stretching back out. Hanging his head, Cullen continued to breathe carefully as he tried to find comfort in her soothing gesture despite how miserable he felt.

Then her touch left, and there was the scrape of a glass across the table. A weak laugh shook Cullen’s shoulders because that was what got him in this position in the first place. Cullen turned his head and pressed his cheek into his shoulder. Evelyn was mirroring his stance; leaning forward and propping herself up on her folded arms. Both of their glasses were in front of her far elbow.

“You okay?” She asked quietly. 

Cullen made a noncommittal sound. “I’m just tired.”

“You want to head on up then?” 

“Yes, but not like this,” he said with a sigh.

Evelyn picked up her cards again and shuffled through the pair. It wasn’t a terrible hand, but it hadn’t been very promising up until the flop. She shrugged a shoulder. “I don’t think you’ll have much of a choice in the matter.”

“You’re enjoying this far too much.”

“I am,” she said, openly grinning now. “It’s not very often I get to say I told you so.” 

Cullen gave her a  _ look,  _ and then for whatever reason, found himself saying, “Like your brother said, look at how tiny you are, I didn’t think it’d affect me half as much.” 

Then his eyes widened as he realized that wasn’t spoken nearly as quietly as it should have been. The threads of conversation around the table diminished as Ezmond snorted and Rylen let out a few barks of laughter. Cullen cast his gaze around, lingering a second on the turn card which gave Evelyn a decent chance at winning this round, and by chance, caught Dorian’s eye. 

Dorian smirked, shook his head, and went back to decorating Bull’s horns. He had passed out midway through the twin’s story about their stuffy aunt; his head was pillowed by his crossed arms with one horn angled up into the air. There was a sprig of mistletoe hanging from the highest point and golden garland wrapped around the rest. He snored once as Dorian finished, loud and guttural and somehow very  _ The Iron Bull,  _ and Cullen frowned. Thank the Maker he had refused to have more than one shot. 

“And on that note,” Evelyn said, sounding smug. “I fold.”

“Ev,” Cullen pleaded, almost desperately, feeling increasingly awkward as he rubbed at the back of his neck. 

“Don’t fret; I’ll make it up to you later.”

Cullen saw her wink, and couldn’t help but smile a little. When Evelyn saw him smile, she grinned in response.

“Ugh,” Ezmond groaned. “Stop saying shit like that. I am —  _ right here.” _

“I swear they’re doing it just to mess with you,” Dorian said, tossing his cards into the middle as well. “Most of the time they just stare at one another like lovesick idiots when they think no one is looking.” 

“I think it’s sweet,” Josephine said, winking at Cullen. 

For a few seconds, he was confused. Then Cullen remembered they had shoved the couches back against the walls to make room for the folding tables and chairs in the den. Blackwall, having been eliminated ages ago, was sitting somewhere over Cullen’s right shoulder — reading. 

He bristled thinking there was some form of collusion between them and that Cullen had been swindled into this situation. His mouth opened, then closed with an audible click when Josephine set down the river card, and Cole instantly declared he had won. 

Cullen relaxed; helping people was Cole’s thing. There was no way he would force Cullen to continue to sit there as he was.

“So shiny,” the spirit said, marveling at the modest stack of coins. Then entirely disregarding the banknotes he had also won, Cole picked up the boxers. Held them up so everyone could see. “These are nicer than mine.”

“Cole,” Cullen said, trying to  _ stop  _ this from happening. 

“Dorian, why did you give Cullen roosters? Mine only have hearts.”

Dorian snorted. “It’s a joke. Roosters are also—”

“No,” Cullen interrupted loudly. “We’re not doing this.”

“We most certainly are,” chuckled Varric.

“Really, I’m flattered you’re were wearing them, and—”

“I’d love to wear them again,” Cullen interrupted, unable to stop himself from flinching when Evelyn’s hand skimmed across his shoulder blade. He squeezed his eyes shut, knowing there was no reason for this level of distress, but he couldn’t help but be mortified. 

“I’m going to go,” he decided.

“Cullen— wait,” Evelyn said, then let out a peal of laughter as Cullen abruptly stood, knocking the chair over in the process, and started  _ running  _ for the door. 

“Never mind,” she called after him, and Cullen distinctly heard Abby and Bull, because of course, he would wake up at that exact moment, catcalling amongst the laughter. “I hate to see you leave, but I love to watch you go!”

_______________________________________________________________________________

Cullen had gone back to his room and was lying on his stomach in his bed. He felt a strange mix of tired and alert. It seemed as time continued to slip by; his thoughts kept slowing and didn’t tie together just right, but wouldn’t settle enough to let him drift off to sleep. This wasn’t intoxication exactly, but something else. 

And Cullen hated it. 

The drink had been unexpectedly strong. His stomach churned when Cullen recalled how it had felt like fire racing down his throat to settle low and heavy in his gut. He had coughed and wheezed, and Bull had slapped him on the back and laughed. The  _ entire  _ evening was a not so gentle reminder of why Cullen never strayed very far outside of his comfort zone.

Satinalia had always been a straightforward event in his childhood. Not this week-long affair that the Antivans preferred. Tomorrow would be better. It was the last day of celebrations, and Josephine had conceded to forego naming a ruler for a day for Cullen’s benefit.

It had been partially why he’d agreed to the game of Wicked Grace. On the one hand, he understood everyone had their own traditions and expectations of the holiday, but on the other, Cullen had his. And his didn't include getting himself into a position where he had to high tail it out of a room without any clothing. He found he much preferred them in mixed company, thank you very much.

Cullen wasn’t sure how much time had passed when he heard Evelyn come into the room. But he was glad she was there. Considering. And he made a noise into the pillow that was supposed to be a more coherent greeting than it was. 

Evelyn chuckled, and there was a gentle rustle of clothing. “I’m surprised you’re awake.”

“Leliana saw my ass.” His voice was deep and scratchy from his current state. 

“Sweetheart,” she said with utter sincerity. “A lot of people saw your ass.”

“I know, but Leliana will tell Mia,” Cullen grumbled. 

“The stuff you get hung up on,” Evelyn mused with a few sympathetic pats on said ass. “I have your clothes.”

“I don't need them _ now.” _

“Of course you don’t,” she said, and there was a rush of gooseflesh across his body as her fingers feathered through his hair just behind his ear. “Did you have any water?”

“Two glasses.”

“I’m surprised it wasn't more,” she said, crawling over him to get into bed. 

Cullen made a sound of agreement. “I was tired.”

“Then sleep,” Evelyn told him.

Every bone and ache in his body agreed with her. The pounding in his head had already subsided into a dull throb thanks to the sip of elfroot he had taken. And his thoughts were finally fuzzing with the promise of sleep. Perhaps until she had joined him, his mind couldn’t settle. Cullen always felt more… capable — no, that wasn’t right…  _ complete _ when he was with her. 

He shifted to lay on his side, facing her. Evelyn was in one of his t-shirts. It was an old one, worn out, and yet somehow perfect on her. Cullen could see the shape of her breasts, the dip of her waist. Placing a hand on her soft hip, he leaned close to steal that kiss he suddenly wanted. She met him halfway. 

“You brushed your teeth.” 

“I usually do,” she said, smirking. 

A muted pang echoed in his chest. “But never here.”

Evelyn frowned at him as if to say —  _ what do you want from me, Cullen?  _ — as she had months ago after they had first come together. 

And like then he gave her no answer, only wrapped his body around hers for closeness and warmth. Cullen had promised himself he’d offer Evelyn more, but if she didn’t want it, he’d have to live in the now and be happy about what he did have; not guilt her into what he could have. 

_______________________________________________________________________________

He always woke before dawn and usually surfaced when Evelyn did before him; even if it was only enough to emerge momentarily for a farewell before being dragged back under. Today, Cullen managed neither.

He sat with his head in his hands, his elbows on his knees, and barely made it to the restroom when realized he was going to throw up. After the bout passed, Cullen dry-heaved and thought about how he hadn’t had nearly enough to drink to warrant a hangover like this. By the time he was able to safely push away from the toilet, he was actively thanking the Maker Evelyn wasn’t there.

Bracing himself on the sink, it took Cullen a long time to open his eyes. When he did, he noticed three things. One that he looked like shit. Two, there was a second toothbrush alongside his. And lastly, a sprig of royal elfroot was steeped in a bottle of spring water beside the small metal cup that served as his toothbrush holder. Naturally, Cullen balked at the idea Evelyn would waste such a precious commodity on something so trivial, and he refused to drink it. But the split-second he registered why she would do such a thing, Cullen forgot his irritation.

The instant comfort he felt calmed his thoughts; the water, his stomach. Warmth coursed through his limbs, and the aches in his body were replaced with an ache in his heart. Cullen wondered when she had left and where he could find her. It indisputably wasn’t in his suite, so Cullen brushed his teeth, cleaned up, and got dressed. He decided to forgo his usual button down and slacks, choosing a light cotton v-neck sweater and jeans instead.

In his office, he found no answer to his questions, only a gift. It was about two hands wide and very slim. Like the book Evelyn had given him, it was modestly wrapped in brown paper. The only embellishment was a thin red and gold ribbon tied around it off center, so the bow rested in the upper left-hand corner. Wedged beneath it was a small ivory card.

> _ I thought you would like to open this without having to worry about the others taking away from it. _

Slowly, Cullen began to let go of the worry he hadn’t realized he was holding onto. And then he started to smile. But Cullen could actually feel his thoughts tumbling to a stop when he unwrapped a simple, black frame containing a pencil sketch of the two of them. 

Not too long before Samson had strolled into Mia’s shop, Evelyn and he had been reading  _ The Lost Cartographers  _ together in the den. She had been sitting next to him with her legs hooked over his. Tucked under his arm, they fit perfectly together like this, but that was not what had been recreated here. Her cheek was not resting against his chest nor was the book in his hand. It was face down on the seat, and Evelyn was leaning away to look up at him, and he down at her. 

What he held in his hands was the piece of that memory that lived in his imagination. That he had given Evelyn the knowledge he loved her then. Told her she bridged the gap between who he wanted to be and who he was now. It was a beautiful gift, but it left him disappointed with himself. 

Ruffling his hair, Cullen set it on his desk, looked at it another moment, then shifted it a little farther to the left. He took a seat once he was satisfied and opened the center desk drawer. This was where Cullen kept items of varying degrees of sentimental value. Currently, that included of all the letters and notes he’d received since moving into Skyhold, Evelyn’s cat-eyed sunglasses, the book she had given him, and his Satinalia gift for her — touching it made his chest feel tight. 

He got up and went to the door. Just on the other side stood Ezmond. His hair was a little more organized than usual, but his tie was still loosely knotted even though his hands were steady. It must be a personal preference, but why he chose to wear them at all then was baffling.

“Well, that was unfortunate timing,” Ezmond said, grimacing when their gazes locked. 

Not only was Cullen surprised to see him there, but Dante was also nowhere in sight. Dread rose inside him until it reached his throat. Had he had on a tie, Cullen would have smoothed it down reflexively. Instead, he put his hand, and the gift, into his pocket and cleared his throat.

“Is there something I can help you with?” 

“Honestly, I never have any idea what to say to you,” Ezmond answered, frowning at him. 

Cullen resisted the bitter smile that wanted to quirk his mouth. “Is this about Evelyn?”

“Not really. I don’t question your motives, not after…” Ezmond’s frown deepened, and he looked off to the side a moment. “I guess I just wanted to say I’m sorry for encouraging you to make stupid decisions last night.”

“You weren’t the only one,” Cullen said. It seemed the drink had become a rite of passage among the Inner Circle. The subtext behind the group’s insistence he take the shot meant more to Cullen than he cared to admit.

“No, but— Okay, look, I know I haven’t been the easiest to be around, but it’s been… difficult to feel like I don’t know my own sister anymore on top of everything else.”

Cullen blinked, and at a loss, opened the door wider. “Would you like to come in?”

“I appreciate the offer but… no,” Ezmond said, shaking his head. “I don’t want to keep you more than I already have on the one day that’s supposed to be for you two.”

“It’s not—”

“It is, and you know it,” he interrupted. Ezmond smiled then, but his eyes were sad. “She seems happy, and I can’t remember the last time I thought that.” 

There followed a silence where they both thought their private thoughts. Then Cullen said, “Last night was the first time I’d seen her smile like that, and I know it wasn’t because of me.” 

“Satinalia has always been important to us.” Ezmond stuck his hands in his pockets and absently glanced behind him. “Not too long after our mother died, her magic came to fruition, and she moved into Ostwick Academy. I stayed at the manor, and both her and father came home on the weekends when they could. For quite a while, the only time we could guarantee the three of us would be together was during the holiday.”

Cullen stepped out of his office to shut the door behind him. “I had no idea.”

“I imagine it’s a bit of a sore subject now.” A shadow passed over Ezmond’s face. “Do you ever wonder at how one decision could have changed everything?”

“All the time,” Cullen said. “But there’s no way to go back and change it. Even if there was, I think I would have ended up in the same situation no matter what. But I suppose that’s different for you.”

“It isn’t,” Ezmond said, his eyes locking onto Cullen’s. They were lighter in color than Evelyn’s. More piercing. He held out his hand, shrugging a little. “Happy Satinalia, Brother.”

Cullen chuckled, more out of nerves than anything. He let go of the gift in his pocket; until then he hadn’t noticed his fingers were starting to go numb. They shook hands. There was strength in Ezmond’s grip, but nothing that felt like a warning to be careful with his sister. 

“Happy Satinalia,” Cullen returned. 

Ezmond clapped him on the shoulder then took a few steps backward. “Last I saw Evelyn she was in the den.” And with that, he walked away and did not look back.

Cullen did. 

Three years had passed since that pivotal moment in Evelyn’s life that set her down this path. The invisible foundation upon which the Resistance had been built. And when everything she had sacrificed for was razed to the ground, Evelyn took all her suffering, all her anger, and added it to the rest; locked it behind a door she slammed shut — and kept going.

In a way, Cullen had done the same, but without forward momentum. He had traveled in concentric circles, tired yet tireless; feeding off his turmoil to survive in a world he had helped create until Evelyn disrupted that cycle to show him there was another way. As he peered into the den, Cullen knew he would not to go back to the beginning to risk choosing a path that would lead someplace different.

The room was already back in order. Evelyn laid on her back with her knees hooked over the armrest of the farthest of the two parallel, brown leather sofas from where Cullen stood. Evelyn worried at the skin around her fingernail, seeming to be waiting for something to happen. 

The lighting dimmed as the morning sun slipped behind a cloud. “Hey you,” Cullen said. 

She tilted her head back to lay eyes on him. “That’s my line,” she said, flashing him a smile. Evelyn sat up and tucked her feet under herself. Even in her grey leggings, knee-high, wool socks, and a navy blue sweatshirt, she was radiant. “How are you feeling?” 

Cullen moved to join her. “Much better than when I woke up. Thank you, for that, and for the gift.”

“You liked it?” Evelyn asked, leaning forward for a quick kiss as he sat beside her. 

“Of course I did,” he said, admiring the sudden color high on her cheeks. “You didn’t think I would?” 

She waved a hand. “I don’t know. It wasn’t what I had planned, but after my cover...” 

Cullen worried the restrictions Evelyn had agreed to regarding leaving the manor would make her go a little bit crazy, but she seemed to be handling it effectively. Granted it hadn’t been very long either. 

“Bull gave me endless amounts of shit when I cashed in that favor. Are you hungry?” Evelyn continued, cheeks darkening. She sounded uneasy yet amused. 

He knew why she felt the need to deflect. Cullen would be lying if he denied feeling a bit of that as well, so he shrugged a shoulder and said, “Not really. I thought about getting something light just to be cautious, like some crackers, but Abby seems to be hoarding them for whatever reason.”

Evelyn chuckled. “It’s because she’s pregnant. They’ve been helping with her nausea.”

His eyes widened and in his rush of surprise stupidly asked, “Does Rylen know?” 

“Of course, he does,” she said, kindly.

Cullen scratched at the base of his skull, thinking on the news. He so badly wanted life to be simple, to move ahead steadily and not worry. Even more so when he saw others doing it in spite of the fact it could all so easily veer off course. In a matter of weeks, Mia’s life had been uprooted and turned upside down, yet she lived undeniably in the present. Traded her identity out for another to hold onto him and what she could have with Leliana. 

“Hey,” Evelyn said, her voice softer than before, “it’ll be okay.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Cullen said, smiling for her. Then tugged on the sleeve of her sweatshirt. It was standard issue for Templars and had ORDER printed across the chest in bright white lettering. “This is new.”

“The Trevelyan’s have always served and growing up, our dad used to give them to us every Satinalia. After Ez joined up, I’d get two. It sort of became a running joke or a stupid tradition,” she said, looking away toward the opposite couch where sunlight through the latticework on the window panes cast shadows. 

“I’m glad you got another one.” 

“Yeah, me too,” she murmured. 

Cullen put his arm around her then, pulled her close. Evelyn went willingly, turning to press her face into his chest. With the pad of his thumb, he idly traced the mark in the palm of her hand. Cullen wanted to make new traditions with her. Ones that were only happy. 

“Well, I am not sure if this will be to your liking,” Cullen began, taking the gift from his pocket. 

“Please don’t preemptively apologize,” she said, smiling up at him like she had expected it. “I’m sure it’ll be lovely.”

But based on the look on her face once she had opened it, he couldn’t discern she thought that. With a small frown on her brow, Evelyn ran the thin chain made of paragon's luster through her fingers down to the diamond-shaped pendant. Encased in clear resin was a pressed, yellow-white flower about the size of his thumbnail with five petals. Evelyn traced one with her fingertip. 

“I had no point of reference to what type of jewelry or flowers you prefer, so if you don’t—“ 

“Cullen,  _ stop,”  _ she insisted, setting the necklace down so she could press her hands to his cheeks. “I love it, okay? It’s perfect.”

He looked up, meeting her eyes, and thought that he should be the one thanking her. “You're welcome,” he managed. 

After Evelyn had put it on, she beamed at him; a smile so bright and real that he found himself smiling back. Cullen loved her.  _ Trusted _ her. Lost track of the hours in her company, but never forgot them. For a long time, the only way he knew how to survive was to stop hoping for something better, but now that drove him. Not a house with a white picket fence or anything specific. Just  _ her _ and  _ not here.  _

Impulsively he said, “Marry me.” 

Hours seemed to pass then, though it couldn’t have been more than about two seconds, and Cullen sat there, trying to ignore all the ways her answer could break him.

“Kiss me, Cullen,” she breathed. “And I will.” 

He did. Evelyn tangled her hands in his hair while he gripped her waist in one hand and the back of her neck in the other. The soft sound she let out had him opening his mouth wider to try and deepen the kiss, and she let him.

But then he was grinning, and so was Evelyn. 

She was his primrose. His first real love, and his last. 

“I don’t have a ring yet, but I'll get one. I’ll make it right.”

“You already have, more than you know.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) I have never written from the POV of "a drunk/tipsy person," so with any luck Cullen's situation read _ok._ I aimed for easily distracted/focusing on what he could versus the entire room as he usually would have. There was an attempt *shrug*
> 
> 2) That proposal came out of left field for even me btw, but you know what? I think it fits the worldstate even with how short of a time frame they've been together.
> 
> 3) I headcanon Bull is a very good artist; sort of something he picked up as a spy by sketching people and places as he worked. Also, [Locket Inspo](https://drive.google.com/file/d/1YhQKatMlOywkWpsz-9t3IB-c6hen5JJO/view?usp=sharing).


	17. All you've got is this moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is lyrics from Welshly Arms' [Need You Tonight](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aOb6KlOJUeY).
> 
> Below, you’ll find some smol plot and the final smut in this fic before I wrap it up. 🖤

There were no wedding logistics to stress over nor details to discuss. They only told Leliana the news, and she had taken it upon herself to get everything in order. Then a few weeks later they held a small, but intimate ceremony in the greenhouse where Cullen had wrapped his arms around Evelyn and kissed her before Leliana had a chance to officially declare them husband and wife.

The reception was of the same vein. More of an occasion for the Inner Circle and select field operatives to eat and drink more than usual than a full-scale event. It was perfect if only because it had given Cullen time to admire Evelyn. Nerves had made it difficult to do so before then. 

She had been stunning. The white lace of her dress had complimented her olive skin, and her cascading waves had been swept up into some intricate style Cullen could not wait to dismantle. Within the hour he had begun regularly checking his wristwatch, eager to get her in bed. 

By then, Cullen knew her body as well as he knew his own. Knew all the things Evelyn could say without speaking a single word. He had marveled at this when he had realized, and yet there had been no need to. There was no ill-defined point in time where this had begun; it was only that Cullen had refused to listen for so long. 

That night, he had listened more than he ever had before. Focused on how tenderly her lips had moved over his and the way Evelyn had sighed when he finally slid into her. It had sent gooseflesh across his body; soothed away the residual aches of longing and restlessness remaining within. Cullen knew then, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she had also felt that same pull, and had decided — months ago — there would never be anyone else.

His mind followed the natural progression of that night into the following morning. Cullen had surfaced with Evelyn partially sprawled across his body. He had held onto her, onto the moment, where it  _ really  _ sunk in that she was his. That he had obtained the impossible. 

Upon her waking, there was an awkward moment where their conversation drifted too close to the future. Evelyn had hopped out of bed then, not to put distance between them but the topic. It was difficult to imagine they would ever be free of this. Noticing a rip in the lace of her dress as Evelyn hung it up, Cullen easily changed the subject. She had merely shrugged, told him she had found the dress at a second-hand shop. It should not matter, but it did. 

Absently twisting the silverite band around his finger, he thought about the wedding she should have had. It was unfair of him to do this, and it happened more out of habit than anything. He knew their marriage was one free of expectation, at heart the one she had dreamed of, but Cullen did not feel deserving of that. In another time and another place, he would have proudly carried the weight of her family image and dealt with all the politics involved if only to have her in the end. 

In a way, that was what would be expected of Cullen as of now.

The envelope was thick and creamy; expensive cardstock. On the front in flowing, elegant penmanship it read:  _ Commander Cullen Stanton Rutherford & Mrs. Rutherford. _ The wax seal — a violet and crown — remained intact. There was no need to open it. Josephine was the one who suggested holding the grand ball on First Day’s Eve to usher in a new year and a new era of peace and unity in Orlais. However, it had also been agreed upon that Inner Circle would only attend undercover to minimize the risk of escalating events beyond their control.

Cullen took another drag off his cigarette, inhaling the smoke deeply; an attempt to calm his agitation. Still, he couldn’t pull his eyes from the invitation. It looked so out of place on his desk. 

“Are you going to burn it?” Ezmond asked. 

“It’s tempting,” Cullen admitted, exhaling a plume of smoke. It swirled in the air between them. 

He knew Leliana well enough to know that something out of the ordinary had been afoot, and he was annoyed that he had been left out of the loop. “Do I even want to know what happened?”

Ezmond gave him a smile, though slowly, like he was trying to suppress it. “Politics, of course.”

“Perfect.”

He knew it would only be a matter of time before Orlais began to indulge in the possibility of future greed and ambition. For nearly one hundred years Fereldans had rebelled against Orlesian occupation, only enjoying forty years of freedom in what was deemed the Golden Age before it all went to shit again. Today, the citizens of Ferelden had no organized resistance movement of their own, believed the international one had failed. They had no king, no hope — only further misfortune to look forward to.

The threat of open warfare loomed large. Even from where Cullen sat. 

Once Amladaris was removed from the equation, tensions simmering between the Venatori and Red Templars would come to a boiling point. Cullen was positive Samson had no designs on the throne; however, he also would not stand idly by and allow Erimond to become one more person to use the Templars. As a result, Fereldans would welcome Orlesian intervention, even reoccupation. Unfortunately, neither Celene or Gaspard would consider spilling Orlesian blood for their cause. They would wait until the opposing factions had torn themselves and Ferelden into shreds, then swoop to expand their empire, indifferent to the lives lost due to their inactivity. 

Having come to the same conclusion, Alistair had re-established direct contact with the Council. A plan was in place for the news of his survival to break at the same the reports of Amladaris’ downfall spread like wildfire. With any luck, a truce could be quickly established with Samson, stabilizing the situation and keeping Ferelden from being completely defenseless. 

“Evelyn wasn’t much happier,” Ezmond said, taking the tennis ball from Dante as he padded back into the room. 

“No, I imagine not since they’re clearly using her as a shield.” Cullen paused, breathing out an involuntary sound of amusement as Ezmond reared back and blindly launched the ball out the doorway again. Instantaneously, Dante peeled back out of the room. 

“Where is she?” 

Ezmond shrugged a shoulder. “Alice went through the looking glass.” 

It was a fitting reference, but one Cullen could have lived without. The Crossroads was a place beyond, void of logic; a reality with its own set of rules. Morrigan had assured him the discomfort from the twisting light and insistent noise was standard for non-elves, but it was— 

Pain stabbed his left temple as he recalled. Cullen pressed the heel of his hand into his forehead and stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray. “I do not like having that mirror in Skyhold.”

“Me neither, but it’s been useful, considering,” Ezmond said, frowning.

As much as Cullen loathed to admit it, using the Eluvians had accelerated the talks between all parties considerably. They had also allowed Evelyn more freedom than she otherwise would have enjoyed. But it also meant having Morrigan come and go as she pleased. 

He avoided her at all costs. Mainly because of her knowledge of Kinloch. It made that place feel too close even though it happened so long ago. The one memory that would never fade, no matter how much he wanted it to. But having his arguments against the mirror being moved into the manor met with sarcasm about griffons flying out of it did not make him any more susceptible to her or the Eluvian’s presence. 

“What does Evelyn hope to accomplish? No matter what she says, it is unlikely they will rescind the order,” Cullen said, then gritted his teeth. The Resistance was not under Orlesian purview. They should not be handing out orders in any way, shape, or form; especially to Evelyn. 

“Oh no, it wasn’t that. The Warden Commander wanted to speak with her,” Edmond said.

For the first time in a decade, Cullen found himself regarding Eirlys with respect. For doing everything possible to keep Alistair safe no matter the cost. Willing to sacrifice friend or foe to see him live through this war. A wave of fatigue washed over Cullen then. 

“Any idea what she wanted?” 

“No, but Evelyn said she’d call the Council together once she got back.” A pause as Ezmond’s expression darkened. “Hopefully she’ll also finally explain why the Dread Wolf recently paid her a visit.”

“She didn’t tell me he had,” Cullen said, frowning. 

He wished he was mistaken, but her brother seemed hesitant to respond, and though Cullen didn’t show it, he was suddenly overwhelmed with dread. Which was saying something considering how on edge he felt ever since being informed the Orb had been restored to full power over a week ago. But Evelyn had not looked genuinely at ease since two nights ago. This was not merely a concern over her well-being. Of course, Cullen trusted Evelyn, but he also knew that she would keep things to herself if only to lessen the burden on those around her.

Then Ezmond looked at Cullen levelly, flexed his fingers and clenched them tight again. Finally, he said, “Everyone has secrets, and when we seek the truth, we find the most treacherous secrets are the ones we keep from ourselves.”

Cullen could never shake the idea that Ezmond had all the answers locked away in the recesses of his mind. That he was merely feigning the inability to comprehend his gift to deter Morrigan from trying to wheedle information out of him. This belief stemmed from something Cole had once said in passing: _ It is knowledge, not a weapon; using it could change everything. It already has. _

“I do not understand. Sometimes talking to you is worse than talking to Cole.”

“You do understand, you just don’t want to. You’re blurring the end, like a smudged painting purposefully done.” All the tension in Ezmond’s body seemed to concentrate into his gaze, seeing nothing in the room but perhaps everything beyond it. “The Orb. She knows what needs to be done, and so do you.” 

His blood ran cold as he considered the one outcome he had always refused to acknowledge. “The question is when it’s done, what am I going to do?” Cullen whispered because he really didn’t know. 

“Cullen, for her, Justice will always prevail.” Ezmond paused as if to let the words sink in. “Don’t ever forget that.” 

_______________________________________________________________________________

Just what was waiting for him at the end of this world? 

It was something he had thought on regularly ever since that conversation with her brother. Cullen wondered if things might have set up differently had he left Evelyn alone. Not become one more thing for her to factor into her decisions. He remembered all the times she had tried to keep him at arm’s length, and he puzzled over whether it was for her sake or his. 

Images flooded his mind then. 

The first time he saw her back in New Haven. Evelyn standing unflinching between him and a demon. Launching herself into his arms after he returned from meeting Samson. The slow smile she always gave when Cullen awoke after her. Her looking up at him broken and lost after Suledin. Blood spattered clothes. Evelyn being consumed by the Anchor, turning her ice cold as its poison trickled into her bloodstream. Her being shot, fatally lacerated by a demon claw, burned—

Cullen squeezed his eyes shut, elbows on thighs with his head braced in his hands.  _ Tonight I’ll find out what’s waiting for me, _ he thought numbly. 

“Cullen.”

Unable to help himself, he tensed. Then there was the ghost of a touch at the base of his skull. Not present enough to differentiate dream from reality. Still, he sat straight and looked up, relieved to find Evelyn standing over him. 

In the silence that followed, he noticed the lines between her eyebrows first. Then something in her evergreen eyes he didn’t care to acknowledge at the moment. Cullen dropped his gaze, pained, and focused on the soft fabric beneath his hands. It took him a moment to register that it was the nightgown she had in her luggage the day they met. For some reason, his body broke out in a sweat at the fact it was probably intentional she was wearing it now for the first time. His hands slid up from where they were loosely hanging onto her thighs to grip her hips. 

“Tell me, what are you thinking?” 

“What Eirlys did to us, it wasn’t so simple as betrayal,” Cullen said. “She did what she needed to, and I disregarded that at the time.”

“I know. I couldn’t be mad at her because I knew I would have done something similar to protect you if the opportunity had ever presented itself.” Evelyn smiled at him, sad and bitter. “Part of me wishes I had never involved you in this.”

Cullen remembered the hollow, dark void that Evelyn now occupied. His throat tightened, emotions pulled at his chest. He wanted to scream in frustration, but all he did was sigh. Then said, “I’m thankful you did. Every day.”

“Me too,” she murmured, removing her hands from his shoulders to run her fingers through his carefully styled curls, mussing them. The way her nails lightly dragged across his scalp felt so good, so goddamn good that it threatened to ignite all the tension simmering under his skin. And really, why fight it? 

For now, time still belonged to them.

“Ev, I need you,” he said, pulling her closer. 

Evelyn swallowed hard. Then she nodded, slow and controlled, but the intensity of her stare told him she needed him just as badly. Without looking away, Cullen opened his mouth and fastened it over her nipple; the soft fabric of her nightdress was thin enough that he could still taste her skin. He laved and sucked until the soft peak was unbelievably hard and Evelyn was arching into his ministrations. 

Not wanting to ignore the other, Cullen moved to her other breast as he bunched up the skirt of her nightgown. His hand pushed on her inner thigh, encouraging her to spread for him, and she complied without hesitation. He skimmed his touch over her folds. Already, she was wet and willing, and Cullen made a low sound of approval in his chest, then caught the sensitive, soft flesh of her nipple between his teeth. 

“Take this off for me and lay down,” Cullen instructed, tugging on her nightgown. 

He noticed her hands shake as she grabbed hold of the shift to pull it over her head. There was no denying he was just as weak for her as she was for him. It only wasn’t as noticeable because his hands had been shaking for days with pent up stress. Once she was bare before him, Cullen stood, holding out a hand to assist her into bed. 

As he undid his cufflinks, Evelyn pulled his cock out of his pants and stroked him a time or two. Cullen hissed through his teeth when she took his length into her mouth. 

“Nice and slow. Just like that,” he said, sighing. Cullen took his time removing his bow tie, shirt, and slacks as she serviced him. She was so beautiful with her cheeks flushed with want.

“You feel so good,” he told her, lightly stroking the side of her face before allowing his hand to roam languidly over her body, dragging over her breasts and along her stomach. Eventually, he reached for her wet, silky heat. His middle finger rubbed slow circles around the apex of her thighs. 

Her breathing started to catch, and her brows furrowed in concentration, but he did not want her to come until he was buried deep inside her. Evelyn whined in protest as Cullen removed his hand from her, a noise that made his cock twitch, and grabbed her jaw to extract himself from her mouth. He leaned down to peck a quick kiss to her lips. 

“Patience, love,” he told her, raking his gaze up and down her exposed body. She worried her lower lip between her teeth as he settled between her legs. “I’ll make it worth the wait.” 

“Okay,” she said with a gasp when he wrapped his hands around her thighs to push her legs up and out; spreading her wide. Then he lightly ran his tongue over her labia, massaging the sensitive skin just inside them with his thumbs; teasing but not touching her clit. 

She shuddered as he flattened his tongue, licking in a long line up the length of her, stopping just before he reached her little bundle of nerves. There Cullen nuzzled her bud a moment, then massaged small circles into the sensitive tissue with the tip of his tongue. He hooked his arms under her legs, touching her everywhere he could reach and finally buried his face between her legs to  _ feast.  _ Evelyn moaned loudly and shamelessly as he worshipped her. Glancing up, his cock throbbed painfully into the bed at the sight of her body moving restlessly with pleasure.

Unable to wait any longer, Cullen pushed himself up and over her, keeping her legs hooked over his arms. Evelyn nodded wordlessly as she reached down to line him up. A choked noise escaped her throat as he sheathed himself fully the split-second he was able. He pulled out until only the tip remained, then pushed back in. She came on the third thrust with a breathy cry. Her shuddering gasps ringing through his ears as her nails dug into his biceps.

He did not ease up; in fact, Cullen angled his hips so he could continue to hit that spot that made her see white. She was his, and he needed her to  _ feel  _ that in every way. The exact way he could feel her in his very veins. 

Evelyn must have felt it because eventually she started to shiver and squirm, unable to do much but make little pleading sounds with the way he had her pinned beneath him. He ignored her, keeping the pace unhurried, but deep. Gliding in and out, focusing on how  _ lucky  _ he was to have her, to experience such perfection more than once. 

“Oh Maker… Cullen. Don’t stop.” 

“Come for me. Come for me again.”

“I want to,” she cried out as he snapped his hips into her, making her whole body jostle. Finally, giving her what she’d been asking for.

Evelyn reached down, splitting her fingers to feel him move inside her a moment before shifting her hand up. Cullen growled as he watched her play with herself. Hypnotized by the sight of that and his cock stretching her beautifully over and over again; creating a feedback loop that became too intense too fast. Mercifully, the small, repetitive motions of her fingers started to stutter and her whole body tensed. 

Cullen lost himself in the burning pleasure coiling at the base of his spine as her body pulsed and rippled around him. Then his mind went blank as he went over the edge in a moment of pure bliss. 

When he came back around, his head rested on his shoulder, and Cullen managed to turn his face to brush his lips over her jaw. Then he wrapped his arms around her tightly and collapsed on top of her. Cullen pressed his cheek into her chest to feel Evelyn’s heartbeat racing away, enjoying the simple fact that she was there with him —  _ breathing.  _ It felt like time had stopped, and he never wanted it to start back up again.

They were in another world, and it seemed almost too perfect for what was about to happen.   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone kindly pointed out this fic is more dark future/dystopian & I have been thinking that for some time. SO, I have updated the tags/summary to make note of that.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, thanks for reading! (Black Heart)
> 
> Also, here’s my [WitD Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/miracook/playlist/5tjYz0OQaGRJXJOiWa4aK6?si=DvzI-NKlSnyM_FyKI-SVnA) for anyone who wants to check it out. Feel free to suggest songs to me as well!


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